


In Between the Dotted Lines

by cloudsarefluffy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abused Castiel, Abusive Balthazar, Abusive Relationships, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguing, Awesome Jo, Balthazar Being a Dick, Balthazar is Abusive, Bitterness, Bittersweet Ending, Bottom Castiel, Break Up, Broken Promises, Castiel Is So Done, Dean is Bad at Feelings, Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge 2014, Don't Read This, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Sex, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Fights, Forgiveness, Getting Back Together, Head Injury, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jealous Dean Winchester, Love/Hate, M/M, Making Up, Marriage, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Past Relationship(s), Plot Twists, Protective Dean Winchester, Relationship Issues, Revenge Porn (Video), Some Chapters Got F-ed Up, Temporary Amnesia, The Author Regrets Everything, Time Skips, Top Dean, Triggers, Unrequited Balthazar/Castiel, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-01
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-02-19 11:48:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 66,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2387198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudsarefluffy/pseuds/cloudsarefluffy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say marriage is supposed to be "till death do us part". </p><p>Castiel and Dean just need to figure out if it's their love that is supposed to be dead, or if they should just put their pasts to rest.</p><p>(Glitches have messed up some of these chapters, and I apologize. However, I'm practically orphaning this thing, so don't expect me to do anything with it anymore, honestly.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You and Me We Made a Vow

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to thank all of my betas: Azalea, Natalie, Johanna, Laine, Sharon, and all of the other lovely others (there were so many- like omfg) who helped me pretty this puppy up before its due date! And, as for the alphas: Savannah, Johanna, Laine, and , I would like to thank you for giving me suggestions and correcting the loopholes that my brain made when it was dumb with summer! 
> 
> Also, quick shout out to my friend, **earthseraph** , for having her birthday a day before my ORIGINAL posting date! WHOO- YOU'RE AN ADULT! _RESPONSIBILITY! TAXES! YEAH!_
> 
> Art Link: http://anglophile-rin.livejournal.com/638.html

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I am so done with this dang fic that I'm happy it's published. Technological failures and glitches have caused me many set backs and much frustration over the past two weeks since I prepared for publishing. From Google Docs locking me out of my own doc, to nearly losing my whole entire DCBB, to even having to copy and paste the 56,000 words it was at the time onto a word processor on my computer- I am far too pissed and angry with this story to even care about it for anything other than the kudos/comments it brings.  
> I may sound fairly bitter or negative, but with all the shit this fic has caused- from doubting my own writing skill to becoming so stressed that panic attacks have come upon me- I could not have been more pleased to press the publish button.
> 
> If there are any errors, please leave a message or something, I dunno. It'll probably be months- maybe even a year- when I'll be ready to even think about touching this again. Sorry.
> 
> *sighs*
> 
> Okay, now onto the actual stuff that needs to be said.
> 
> This fic is not for the faint of heart. By this, I mean that there is a lot of fighting, a lot of sad grudges, and even some violent themes. However, there are some funny moments, and the conclusion is bittersweet.  
> However, to get there, you'll face A LOT of Dean and Cas going for each other's throats, so be prepared for that mess.  
> Balthazar isn't a good guy. Whoo.  
> Jo is perf, as she should be- and other characters are only mentioned in flashbacks, because in this story, **Dean and Cas' relationship is more important than anything else** , as it should be.

 

* * *

 

 

“Would you mind telling us why you’re filing for divorce?” the man- Chuck Shurley, as his name plates states- sighs, “There are programs here that are available for failing relationships.”

 

“Yes, I’m sure,” Castiel answers with confidence in his voice as he grabs onto his partner’s hand and squeezes it tightly, “However, Balthazar and I are in a perfectly healthy relationship, so there’s no need for any of those. It’s more so an old commitment that I need to have severed.”

 

Chuck nods impassively, seemingly bored with what's going on as he types away on his computer, “Alright. Is the second party in question able to be present?”

 

Castiel blinks in surprise, “Um, no. I don't think so. The second party and I haven’t spoken in quite some time, about five years, to be exact… That- that isn’t a problem, is it?”

 

“Actually, it is,” Chuck sighs quietly and sets his glasses on his desk before his hands together, “Whoever you married beforehand needs to give their consent on this separation. Even if you want to go with another method, you’d need to have them in court with you.”

 

“Which would be the quickest way?” Balthazar asks in irritation, “Our wedding is in a few weeks, so time is _limited_ for us.”

 

Chuck cracks his fingers outwards, and he looks away from his computer screen to glare at the couple in his office with sternness,“This process isn’t going to speed up just because you have plans. These things take time, and the roughest estimate that I can give you is several or more days, but that’s with the second party’s signature. You might as well reschedule the wedding if you plan on going to court.”

 

Castiel grits his teeth, trying his hardest not to seem externally frustrated, “But my old husband is practically long gone. I have no idea where he would be.”

 

“There’s nothing I can do, Mr. Novak. I can’t file these documents, nor can I make your old spouse appear in my office with the snap of a finger. I'm not some magician who can do tricks for people so they get the easy way out. Until you find him, I can’t and won't do anything for you. It’s just that simple.”

 

“But we already have a deposit on the venue and everything!” Balthazar gapes angrily at Chuck, “We’d lose all of the money that we sunk into this!”

 

Chuck smirks at Balthazar and it doesn’t look friendly, “That’s not my problem, so stop acting like it is. Here’s what you have to do, plain and simple, and I’m not telling you this twice. Find the spouse, get his signature, or take him to court- whatever you prefer- and  _then_ come talk to me. Until any of that happens, you can just keep searching for whoever it is that still wants to have Mr. Novak’s- or should I say Mr. _Winchester's-_ ring on their finger.”

 

A heavy silence falls over the room, and Castiel notices how Balthazar stiffens in his seat.

 

Chuck, however, seems unaffected, and stands up abruptly to open his office door, “Now, please. Take your leave before I call security.”

 

Castiel furrows his brow, and Balthazar looks like he’s about to spit venom. Chuck stares at them as Castiel drags his fiancé out of the room and into the hallway, after which Chuck promptly slams his door in their faces. Castiel winces at the sound, feeling Balthazar’s muscles tense in anger underneath his palm.

 

“Balthazar-”

 

“No! He's a bastard, and he’s got to be breaking some sort of regulation by treating us in such a manner! Prick!” Balthazar kicks the wood of Chuck’s door roughly.

 

Everyone in the hallway pokes his or her head out of a doorway at the sound, and it causes Castiel to feel completely mortified as he finds himself in their gazes.

 

Castiel decides to act, and tugs on Balthazar’s jacket and pleads quietly to ease his anger, “Please, not _here._ I don’t want to be arrested for trying to file for divorce-”

 

Balthazar pivots suddenly and turns a dark shade of red, and it’s one that only appears when he’s enraged.

 

“Castiel, who are you even _married_ to?” his fiance grinds out, and Castiel feel ashamed by how Balthazar looks at him.

 

“D-Dean Winchester.”

 

“Well,” Balthazar starts marching out of the room, and he grabs onto Castiel’s wrist roughly so he can drag him along like a giant, ignorant duckling, “looks like we’re on a manhunt!”

 

 

**-X-**

 

 

Dean settles on the bar stool next to Jo, sighing, “God, that had to be the worst manhunt in like… the history of _ever._ ”

 

“Yeah, that wasn’t the easiest thing to do…” Jo downs her shot quickly, hissing slightly before speaking again, “Remind me to never take another job with twins.”

 

Ash slides Dean his favorite beer, a smirk on his face when he sees Jo, “So, what lovely job did you lovely agents have today?”

 

Jo grunts, face planting into the counter as Dean chuckles at her, “We had to chase down a pair of twins. The catch? Only one was guilty. God, it fucking _sucked…_ ”

 

“Hm, thought your special agent senses would help you out. You aren’t gettin’ rusty, are you, Dean?”

 

Dean drinks a little of his beer before setting it onto the counter, “I’m not gettin’ rusty, Ash. Let it go.”

 

“You know, I remember when you were on top of your game years ago...” Dean sighs as Ash seems determined to reminisce, “ What happened to your muse, Dean?”

 

“It left me,” he says simply, and he downs a large amount of his beer in a few seconds.

 

Dean just wants to _forget_ about the past, not remember it.

 

Ash furrows his brow for a moment, and his expression changes as a realization hits him, “Wait… Dean Winchester, were you in a _relationship!?”_

 

Jo’s head pops up from the counter almost immediately, “Oh my god, _please_ don’t let it have been Lisa-”

 

“Just _stop,_ ” Dean finishes his beer and sets it to the side, “It wasn’t Lisa, but… I’d rather not talk about it.”

 

“Why? Is there somethin’ we shouldn’t know?”

 

Dean rubs at his face, wishing that these two would just drop this, “It was years ago, okay? It was way before Lisa, it was even way before I knew either of you, so just drop it.”

 

Jo leans in, her voice serious, “Dean, you _have_ to tell us.”

 

“I don’t have to do anything,” Dean snaps, and he gets up from his seat as some tension leave him, “I’m goin’ for a walk."

 

Dean storms out of the Roadhouse and into the night. His breath shows up in small clouds outside of the bar and the air feels cold on his cheeks. Dean sighs in defeat, takes a cigarette out of his pocket, and lights it.

 

‘ _You’re going to get cancer..._ ’ a familiar voice rings in his head, ‘ _If you die, what am I supposed to do?’_

 

“Move on. Wait, you already did. I mean, who am I kidding? You probably wouldn’t even care if I were six feet under,” Dean grunts to himself, taking a long drag from his “death stick”, as _he_ used to call it, while he looks up at the stars.

 

God, maybe he _is_ losing it.

 

However, Dean’s thoughts on his sanity are stalled when there’s a vibration in his pocket. Dean pulls out his phone, the one that the big guys contact him on, to see an old name light up the screen. To make things even more surprising, it’s a _call._

 

Dean hesitates for a moment, debating if he should even answer or not, but curiosity gets the better of him as he presses the answer button, “Hello?”

 

“ _Uh, hello… Do you happen to know someone named, um… Dean Winchester?_ …”

 

“You’re talkin’ to him now,” after the words leave his mouth, Dean quiets, and he begins wondering if this could even be happening, “Who is this?”

 

There’s a slight pause, “ _I’m no one, exactly. I just need to talk to you-”_

 

“Look, if this is a prank call or some stupid bullshit, I really don’t have the time for it,” Dean gets angry, because he knows _this_ voice by heart and there’s no way that he’s going to be blindsided by the speaker again, not if he can help it, “Just tell me who you are, or I’m hanging up.”

 

There’s a small sigh over the line, one that sounds hopeless and defeated, “ _I-It’s Castiel… Novak._ ”

 

As if he needed to add the last name because, if nothing else, it's just an insult to an already festered injury.

 

“Oh,” is all Dean manages to say.

 

He watches a few cars drive by as silence passes between him and Castiel.

 

“ _Look, I’m just going to go ahead and tell you what’s going to happen,_ ” Dean can hear Castiel move papers around, “ _I need your signature._ ”

 

Dean furrows his brow, finding his heartbeat quicken, “For what?”

 

“ _Divorce forms._ ”

 

Dean takes a deep, grounding breath, only to have it get caught in his throat seconds later. Still, he doesn’t say anything to what he had just heard.

 

 _"_ _I know that this is sudden and out of nowhere, but I really need you to sign these papers to officialize it. Is there some place that we can go to? We can go ahead and get this out of the way so we can get on with our lives. The faster, the better._ ”

 

Dean runs a hand through his hair, and his mind pulls a blank, “I, uh- I don’t know if I can just drop everything and-”

 

Castiel sounds insulted as he interrupts him, “ _That didn’t stop you any before, Dean Winchester. Look, this is very simple. All you have to do is sign your name on a damn dotted line. After that, there’s nothing else I need from you. I would mail the papers to you to save us the time and anger, but, if I’m correct, you don’t even have an address that can receive it.”_

 

“Cas-”

 

“ _No, you don’t have the right to call me that anymore. I’m getting married to someone else, Dean. I’m moving on with my life. I’m sorry if you couldn't manage that,_ ” Castiel stops hissing into the phone and lets a few seconds pass before he speaks softly again, “ _Dean, all I need is your signature. Nothing more, nothing less… Please._ ”

 

Dean stares at his feet, watching flecks of ash fall downwards for a few seconds before closing his eyes. For a few moments, all he can hear are the sounds of cars driving down the street and his own breathing, and it's still too much. He presses his lips together tightly for a moment, and Dean decides that he might as well and get this- his marriage- over and done with. It has to happen sometime, right? Or at least, that's what Dean tells himself.

 

“Fine, I’ll do it,” he throws his cigarette onto the ground as his eyelids open, and he stomps it out with frustration, even though half of it was left, “I’ll sign your damn papers.”

 

“ _Okay, good. Just meet me at this address and we’ll get this over with._ ”

 

“Yeah, sure,” Dean murmurs.

 

 _This means_ us, _t_ _hough…_

 

Despite his conflicting feelings, Dean jots down the address on his hand with a pen from his pocket as Castiel says it. As soon as it's repeated back to Castiel, the other man tells Dean that it's correct, and promptly hangs up without even saying goodbye.

 

“Just like old times,” Dean grumbles with annoyance, and he kicks an empty beer can out of the way as he goes back inside.

 

“Hey, Dean-” Ash and Jo’s smiles fall.

 

“Dude, did someone die?”

 

Dean plants himself in a chair miserably, waving Ash over for another drink, “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

 

Jo comes over and places a reassuring arm over her partner’s shoulder, “Oh, come on, Dean. Maybe gettin’ this off of your shoulders will help you.”

 

“No, it won’t. _Nothing_ helps,” Dean hisses as his fingers tighten in on themselves, “Alcohol doesn’t work, cigarettes don’t work, this job doesn’t work. None of you understand, okay? If those things can’t help me, what will talking about it do?”

 

“It can help you compartmentalize?” Ash suggests weakly with a shrug, and Jo sends a death glare his way before turning her attention back to Dean.

 

She sighs and turns Dean's head with a few gentle fingers, and when their gazes meet, Jo looks like she feels pity for him- Dean wouldn't be surprised if she actually does, “Dean, I don’t know what happened, and I don’t know who or what left you, but it’s obvious you’re still hurting. If you want to talk about it,” she sends a look towards Ash only to return her gaze to Dean, and she smiles softly, “we’ll be here for you. Just like we always have been.”

 

Dean brushes her arm off weakly, and his voice is as impassive as he can make it, “Thanks, but I don’t need a shoulder or two right now. What I need to do is leave.”

 

“Leave?” his friends say in unison.

 

“I have some business to take care of in Pontiac, Illinois-”

 

“I’ll come with you,” Jo interrupts, and is immediately standing up from her stool.

 

Huh, she even has her keys out and her jacket on already.

 

Dean gives her a small smile, but he slowly sets her back down on her seat with one hand, “No, Jo. Stay here."

 

When Jo looks as though she's about to object, Dean stops her from getting any words in.

 

"Relax or take a job without me while I'm gone. If you need a partner or something, get Benny," when Jo opens her mouth, Dean betas her to the punch once more, "Or Rufus, if you prefer him. Lord knows he’s eager to get back out in the field since his leg healed.”

 

Jo looks at Dean suspiciously, as though she can see through his calm exterior, “Are you sure you don’t need me? I can-”

 

“I’m positive, Jo. This is… this is a solo job. Trust me,” Dean puts a ten on the counter for Ash, and he sighs deeply before he speaks again, “I don’t know when I’ll be back, but hopefully I’ll only be gone for a couple of days. Then we can take a few of those framing jobs or two. My treat, Jo.”

 

Jo’s smile grows a little bit.

 

He knows that she loves those dearly. However, she’s aware of the fact that Dean would rather kill someone then incarcerate them. Like he told her before- people can escape jail, but they can’t escape death.

 

“Alright,” Jo settles herself back at the bar, but she still seems wary, “Call me if you need me, okay?”

 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Dean sends a quick wink her way, and waves towards his friends as he turns to leave.

 

Dean walks out of the bar and gets in his Impala, sighing as he shuts the door. He pulls out his phone, texts the directions to HQ, and in seconds he has instructions to a certain little house in Pontiac, Illinois.

 

 

**-X-**

 

 

“So, did the number work?” Balthazar asks calmly, his eyes on the newspaper in his hands, “Did Winchester answer?”

 

Castiel stands a few feet away in the arch of the door frame, and his legs refuse to move any closer. Last time he checked, Balthazar is unusually calm tonight for what happened earlier.

 

“Yes… He did. He agreed to come here and sign the papers for us.”

 

“Did he give you an ETA?” Balthazar flips a page over nonchalantly.

 

Castiel bites his bottom lip, mentally cursing at his slip up, “Uh, no… But I don’t think he’ll take too long. He’s good about getting to places early when he has a job to do.”

 

Balthazar nods to himself, seemingly enveloped with reading the news, “That’s good.”

 

“Yes…” Castiel rubs his sore wrist, vigilant of every single one of Balthazar’s actions with every passing second, “It is.”

 

“What if Dean’s a no show?” Balthazar suddenly asks, and his eyes narrow on Castiel.

 

Castiel finds himself surprised by Balthazar's 'optimistic' outlook, “We have a few more options, but-” he tries to keep his voice level, feeling anxiety pool itself in his chest, “I’m certain that Dean will arrive just as he said he would.”

 

“We still need a plan just in case, Castiel,” there’s a menacing edge to Balthazar’s voice, as if there’s an underlying warning for Castiel to heed.

 

“T-There’s a few things we could do, but there may not be enough time for anything to be finalized before our wedding date. I grabbed a small pamphlet on court standards before we left. There were a few methods that we could use, but I don’t know if they will work or not, especially with the time frame we have.”

 

Balthazar quirks a brow, “And? Just tell me what they are.”

 

Castiel brings his hands up in front of him, and he lets his fingers dance over one another, “One option is going to court. Here in Illinois, if two people are separated from each other for at least two years, and a judge can determine if the relations between the two people are too damaged, then he’ll proceed with the divorce. It doesn’t matter if Dean is there or not.”

 

“That would take too long, though. We only have a little less than two weeks before I have to leave for the UK. What about the other one?”

 

“It’s publishing an ad in the newspaper or something similar to notify the public of the situation. That way, there’s a communal documentation, and it is considered as something to forewarn the other spouse about the court hearing and date.”

 

Balthazar blinks, “That sounds like a viable option-”

 

“You have to have the ad in the paper for at least a month for it to count,” Castiel instantly regrets interrupting his fiancé as he distinguishes the telltale twitch of a vein on Balthazar’s forehead.

 

It always quivers when he’s angry.

 

“Oh… Okay then.”

 

Several strained moments pass.

 

Balthazar sets his newspaper down, and Castiel flinches as it touches the coffee table. His partner looks at him then, his brow furrowed in confusion as he notices the tensed muscles and the wide eyes that his fiancé has.

 

“Is something wrong, darling?” He pivots slightly in the chair, and Castiel’s heart thumps wildly in his chest, “You look like you’ve seen a ghost or something.”

 

“I’m just… nervous,” Castiel hopes that will satisfy Balthazar.

 

“About what?”

 

Castiel sucks in a deep breath, and he swallows it as fear wraps its slithery tentacles in between the spaces of his ribs, “I’m just worried about the divorce is all,” he partially lies, “I’m concerned over the fact that there may not be enough time.”

 

Balthazar’s eyes shift from calculating to at ease, and his mouth turns up in a soft smile, “Ah, that makes sense- and here I thought you were mad at me or something.”

 

Castiel gives a small, weak smile as Balthazar chuckles lightly.

 

“No, I’m not,” Castiel lies, and thankfully, it sounds convincing.

 

“Come here, love,” Balthazar beckons Castiel over with a wave of his hand, “Let me kiss your worries away.”

 

“But-” Castiel sees the darkening of Balthazar’s eyes, the tightening of his fists, and the word slips out of his mouth before it’s bloodied and bruised, “Okay.”

 

Castiel takes tentative steps towards his fiancé, his feet barely making a sound against the rug on the floor. Balthazar watches with predatory eyes, as if Castiel could run off any second and a chase would ensue. Castiel knows better- _should_ know better- than to try and run off from Balthazar.

 

Castiel settles himself lightly on Balthazar’s lap, and hands immediately grab a hold of him. Their grips are vice-like and possessive, threatening to hold on painfully if Castiel were to try to get away. Castiel shudders under the skin against his, and his breath comes out of his lungs uneasily as Balthazar nears his neck. Lips press on the healing flesh lightly, and Castiel tries to keep himself quiet as a tongue begins to taste him.

 

“So lovely,” Balthazar murmurs into Castiel’s abused flesh, “so _beautiful…_ ”

 

Castiel just remains silent, and tries to hold back tears as hands begin to undo his dress shirt buttons when he wants them to remain closed. However, Castiel knows better than to deny Balthazar when he wants something and, sadly, he wants Castiel's "company" tonight.

 

“I love you,” Balthazar hisses into the other man’s flesh, his teeth nipping at Castiel’s now exposed collarbone.

 

“Me too…” Castiel whispers, and he hopes it’ll be enough.

 

 

**-X-**

 

 

Dean parks the Impala in front of the house in question. It seems normal, like it was plucked straight out of the “after” photos in a home improvement magazine for the average Joe. The flowers and bushes are tended to and trimmed back, and a small, silver Toyota is parked in front of the garage door. A small chuckle escapes Dean, because damn, Castiel really went domestic on this.

 

However, the smile that works its way onto his face falls as quickly as it came.

 

Dean exits the Impala and shuts the door, and his keys jingle as he walks up the porch steps. Dean finds himself in front of the red door, and he stalls as he tries to gather some courage. However, Dean pauses on his efforts for a moment, and he wonders if Castiel can really be behind this- if he’s even in this house, or state, or _country_ even. He breathes out a heavy sigh as he decides to get this over with, and knocks. There’s a few moments where there’s nothing but the sounds of Dean’s shoe tapping on the concrete below and the crickets that quietly sing. After a few more seconds, there’s some movement from inside of the house as a light comes on.

 

The door pulls back and a man is smiling at Dean, and he begins speaking with a thick British accent, “How may I help you?”

 

Dean gives a friendly grin back, only for him to look towards his shoes for a split second in nervousness, “Is, uh, Castiel here?”

 

The man’s face twitches slightly, but his voice remains the same, “Yes, he is. Afraid he’s asleep at the moment, though. However, I can speak for him since I’m his fiancé, Balthazar. Is there a reason you’re asking for him?”

 

“Uh, yeah,” Dean feels awkward as the guy before him, Castiel’s _fiancé,_ apparently, stares at him almost venomously, “I’m Dean Winchester.”

 

“Oh, so you’re _him,_ ” Balthazar’s eyes slightly narrow on Dean, and Dean takes a partial step back, “You’re not what I thought you’d be…”

 

“A lot of people say that,” Dean tries to joke with a smile, but it falls under the weight of Balthazar’s gaze, “Well, uh...” Dean clears his throat, “There’s something I have to sign?”

 

Balthazar pulls back the door and steps aside, “Yes, there is. Please, come in.”

 

Dean nods, walking inside as Balthazar shuts the door behind him. After the initial shock of whatever that was when he entered wears off, Dean finally takes in the interior of Castiel’s home. It couldn’t be more different from when they lived together- in fact, it's like looking at an opposite of their old style. Everything is clean and straight-edged, giving off the feeling of professionalism rather than anything homey. The realization has Dean frozen in the living room, stuck looking towards photographs of Castiel and his ‘new life’ at some ski resort, and at some tropical destination.

 

Balthazar clears his throat, and Dean gives him a weak smile, “Oh, sorry. I, uh, nice photos.”

 

“Yes, they are,” Balthazar says curtly, “However, I would like to move this conversation to the kitchen, if you don’t mind.”

 

Dean holds up his hands innocently, “Yeah, sure. Sorry, I just… I haven’t seen him in a while and I guess curiosity got the better of me...”

 

“Yes. It seems like it has,” Balthazar walks into the kitchen without speaking any further and Dean follows him, making what he hopes is a truly immature look on his face behind the arrogant man’s back.

 

However, as Balthazar turns around, Dean scrambles to become presentable again. The man looks at Dean with a quirked brow, and Dean blurts out the first thing that comes to mind.

 

“Cas looks good,” Dean weakly offers, and Balthazar glares at him before obviously pulling himself together and smiling with such an intensity that Dean knows by this point it’s entirely fake- a facade.

 

“He does,” Balthazar sets himself down on a bar stool, and he begins eyeing Dean weirdly, “He’s happy here, you know. Happier than he's been in years, from what he's told me.”

 

Dean has a “miniscule” feeling that Balthazar is boasting to him, that he's trying to make Dean picture him as the trophy husband- as the better choice that Castiel has made.

 

Well, so far, it isn’t really working for him… but Dean won’t tell him that.

 

Balthazar opens up a folder that had been laying on the counter, and it’s as though the pile of papers are more important than Dean, “So, we have some time to kill, I imagine.”

 

“It’s almost midnight,” Dean shuffles a little on his feet to get the stiffness out of his limbs, “I drove for several hours, at least… I sort of want to sleep-”

 

“I’m not going to keep you for too long,” Balthazar comments idly, but he doesn’t look up from the folder, “I just want to know a few things, is all.”

 

Dean sighs, and he shakes his head, “Fine… shoot.”

 

“How did you and Castiel meet?”

 

Dean is surprised at the question for it being so ‘to the point’- especially since Balthazar seems to be completely disgusted with him. He leans up against the length of the counter that separates the room in half, and all the while Balthazar patiently waits. For a moment, Dean just purses his lips and remembers how Castiel had looked that night in his suit. Even though it's years down the road, the image that had been seared into Dean’s memory still takes his breath away.

 

“We went to the same high school,” Dean tries to sound nonchalant as he recalls how Castiel swayed to music subconsciously in the gym that night, “but it wasn’t until the ten year reunion that we really noticed each other. We hit it off almost instantly, I guess.”

 

There’s another pause, and Balthazar flips over a page before he speaks, “When did you get married?”

 

Thankfully, Balthazar’s head is facing away from Dean, and so he can't notice the slight fall in Dean’s expression, “About a few years ago, I think… Haven’t had much reason to remember the date as of late.”

 

But Dean does remember- it was September 18th, 2008- because honestly, how could he forget the best day of his life?

 

“Why did you and Castiel split up?”

 

Dean’s mouth goes dry, even more so when Balthazar turns to look at him.

 

It could be simple enough to tell the truth- the one where he and Castiel saw each other from across their old gym floor at the reunion; about how their eyes couldn’t really leave each other after they met. Dean remembers how Castiel had been that night, how his lips felt against his own, how his skin felt under his fingertips. He can recall all of it and describe it in detail. The twitch in Castiel’s throat every time Dean kissed his neck, the way his breath caught whenever Dean exhaled over the shell of his ear as the sun came up... They gravitated towards one another, like planets caught up in an orbit, and they closed in the distance. After that, they just weren’t couldn’t seem to be able to let go.

 

Dean could tell you all of those things,- and he could tell you how all of that fell apart and was lost. But… It hurts to- it hurts a lot- and Dean isn’t willing to feel like that again. Especially so when he knows now, that as soon as he holds that pen- the one that will end his and Castiel’s marriage- that there is no chance of him ever getting those moments back; that there is no chance of ever getting _Castiel_ back.

 

So no, Dean won’t tell Balthazar about how he loved Castiel- how he practically still does- and how he is trying to figure out if there’s enough time for him to salvage something that’s already long gone- something that’s apparently already been taken from him.

 

“It’s…” Dean’s mind flashes with images- one of the night they both found out the truth, and he can still picture the hurt in Castiel’s eyes as if they were right in front of him- and any words to describe the situation escape him, all except one, “complicated…”

 

“Isn’t it always?” Balthazar gives Dean that same fake smile, obviously pleased that Castiel chose to go with him instead of Dean.

 

Dean is about to make a smartass retort with something, but a shuffling causes his attention to divert to a doorway onto his left, and Dean sees him.

 

He sees Castiel.

 

Honestly, he hasn’t changed much at all. His hair is still unruly, and his eyes are still really-fucking-blue, as Dean had so eloquently put it years ago, and he looks like he just woke up. However, Dean knows this version of Castiel well. It’s the ‘I-just-had-sex’ Castiel, and Dean wants to punch Balthazar in his dumb British face because it still hurts after all this time and distance.

 

“Balthazar, why are you-” Castiel looks up and sees Dean, and his jaw just drops.

 

Dean stares back at Castiel- stares at the man he irrevocably fell in love with- and he is reminded that this is no longer how it was between them. Dean can’t be the one laying next to Castiel during nights like these, nor will he be the one creating that look on Castiel anymore. The ring on Castiel’s left hand will no longer be his, and Dean's last name will no longer be a part of Castiel’s. To make things worse, he won’t be a part of his life any longer at all, either.

 

Sure, being apart for so long sucked, but they were still technically tied together by that promise; the promise of ‘till death do us part’. Now, with the knowledge that the last thing he has linking him to Castiel, the last thing he has left of what once was, is about to be severed… Dean’s breath catches in his throat before it even reaches his lungs.

 

“Oh…” Castiel looks at Dean quickly, and then averts his eyes, and he pulls the baby blue bathrobe he’s wearing tighter around himself, “I didn’t know that you were here.”

 

“I keep my promises,” Dean states impassively, and he knows it’ll hit Castiel’s conscience like a missile.

 

Castiel blinks at the floorboards for a moment, and Dean forgets about Balthazar’s presence as Castiel speaks again, “Yeah, well… You  _lie_ to keep them.”

 

Dean is taken aback by the retort, and he’s about to start yelling at Castiel about the fact he wasn’t so truthful either when a throat nearby clears itself. Dean and Castiel look over to Balthazar who has the folder from before in his hands.

 

“While the bickering is cute, I don’t want to have to break you two up if you get domestic,” Balthazar hands Castiel the file, only to have Castiel mumble his thanks as Balthazar returns his gaze to Dean, “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get down to business.”

 

Dean gives a tight smile, his eyebrows moving upwards in a sign of sarcastic surprise, “Gettin’ right down to it, eh?”

 

“Yes. I know that you’re tired and all, but I really do want to get this out of the way as soon as possible. Our wedding is closing in, and for it to happen, we need to have ample time for these papers to be processed.”

 

“Wait- you already planned your wedding?” Dean snorts in disbelief, looking over to Castiel in slight irritation, “Did you, like, even  _think_ about our marriage-”

 

Castiel looks up from the floor, his glare fiery as it rests on Dean, “Of course I took that into account! Balthazar has to go back to the UK in less than a month, and we wanted to get married before that happened. Sorry if _our_ lives interfere with _yours._ ”

 

Dean narrows his eyes, “You know that’s not what I meant-”

 

“Then what did you mean?” Castiel snaps.

 

“I meant- why in the everliving fuck did you wait until now to mention to your fiancé that you were already hitched? I mean, there is a thing called denial, but there’s also something called ‘being rational’!”

 

Castiel is about to say something when Balthazar moves towards him. Instantly, Castiel quiets and cocoons in on himself as his fiancé nears, almost like an instinctual reaction. Dean thinks the action is odd, that even if Dean hates this altogether, Castiel should be open and warm towards Balthazar- not fearful and distant. Balthazar grabs onto Castiel’s arm, and even from here, Dean can tell his fingers are too tight- are too rough- and he pulls Castiel back a few inches before speaking.

 

“Castiel and I are going to have a little chat,” his voice is dangerous- similar to that of men who have spoken to Dean before he took care of them- and Castiel is practically nervous putty in this his presence, “So, just relax for a little bit, Dean. We have some important things to discuss. We’ll be back before you know it.”

 

Dean doesn’t reply, but he notices how Castiel looks at him with pleading eyes before he’s dragged back into another room.

 

As soon as they’re out of earshot, Dean whispers to himself, “ _What the fuck?”_

 

 

**-X-**

 

 

“What in the hell!?” Balthazar hisses lowly, his hand gripping onto Castiel’s arm tightly as his fury seeps into his fingertips, “You were married to  _that!?_ He looks like a damn supermodel!”

 

“I was- and yes, I am aware of his looks. He’s gotten numerous offers from clothing companies to do photo shoots for them, but he turned them all down,” Castiel answers weakly, fearing Balthazar’s reaction.

 

However, it can only be described as curious, “What for?”

 

“Mostly underwear companies, I think…” Castiel feels a little bit of rebellion rise up inside of him, “Why? Feeling self-conscious about-” Castiel glances downward with a quirked brow, “ _-something?”_

 

Balthazar glares harshly at his fiancé, “You know, I should put you in your place for this… I thought- I thought he was supposed to be some deadbeat… You never told me that <i>this</i> is what he was! Your husband is practically the pinnacle of human beauty or something!”

 

Castiel chuckles emptily despite his fear, and he looks Balthazar in the eye, “He is many things, Balthazar, but being my husband is not one of them.”

 

“Good,” he growls, and his hand grows tighter on Castiel’s arm, already causing blood to pool under Castiel’s skin that will later darken into deep bruises, “What else should I know about? I’m warning you now, I will not tolerate any more…  _surprises._ I think you already know what will happen to you if there is one.”

 

“He’s very protective over me, even after all that's happened” Castiel hisses suddenly, glaring at his fiancé with venom, but he hopes it'll cover his bluff about Dean still caring, “If he knew about how you are talking to me and what you were doing to me right now he’d  _skin_ you-”

 

A slap silences Castiel, and Balthazar grits his threat into Castiel’s ear, just like he always does, “That man can do  _nothing_ to me! I am not afraid of Dean Winchester!”

 

Castiel gives an empty laugh, holding his stinging cheek with a few gentle fingers, and he gives a dark smiles darkly even though it hurts him to do so.

 

“You should be.”

 

Balthazar is about to hit Castiel again. His hand is pulled back, his arm is taught and ready to deliver a powerful blow to Castiel’s face again- yet, the hit never comes. Instead, Balthazar lets his hand fall to his side with a sigh, leaving Castiel lost and confused. This isn't how these things usually go down.

 

“You tell Winchester where to sleep for the night. I’ll stay in here and… calm down.”

 

Castiel swallows and nods. He leaves the room with some haste, because for Balthazar to do this is… Well, _unusual._

 

“Castiel?”

 

Castiel looks up to see Dean eyeing him curiously from the kitchen, and he swallows down his nervousness to talk to him, “Balthazar and I plan on going to bed now… I’m here to show you to the guest room.”

 

“I thought we were dealing with the papers-”

 

“We’re under  _a lot_ of stress right now, Dean. Planning a wedding and such in a short amount of time drains you,” Castiel walks past Dean then, “We plan on dealing with all of this in the morning once we’re all rested.”

 

Dean pauses for a second, “Oh, okay then…”

 

Shoes fall after bare feet touch the floor as Castiel guides Dean to the guest room, and the whole time, Castiel keeps his back to his estranged “husband”.

 

“So…” Dean begins to say, and he lingers on continuing for a few seconds, “How’s life goin’ for ya?”

 

Castiel takes a breath just as he enters the guest room, “Well enough. Now, here’s where you’ll be staying for the night.”

 

As Castiel begins to walk away, a hand grabs onto his forearm, “ _Wait._ ”

 

“What is it, Dean?” Castiel tries to forget about the certain fingertips resting lightly on his skin, and instead, focuses on the man standing before him.

 

“It’s just- I haven’t seen you in  _so long,_ and you’re not going to even let me ask how you’ve been doing?”

 

Castiel presses his lips together tightly for a moment, “Don’t worry about it, Dean. In a few short hours, you won’t have to concern yourself over me anymore.”

 

Dean’s face falls into a sour expression, “You’ve changed…”

 

“That can happen in five years, Dean… Now please, I’d like to go to bed. I’m sure that you need to sleep some as well.”

 

“Fine, but…” Dean lets his fingers release Castiel’s arm gently, and he looks down towards the floor, “Promise me we’ll talk for a little bit before we can’t anymore, yeah?”

 

Castiel stares at Dean for a moment, “The last time you made a promise, you broke it.”

 

Dean’s shoulders tense from surprise, but he nods as though he expected such a statement, “I know I did, Cas…”

 

“I told you, you can’t call me that anymore,” Castiel feels some hurt rise in his chest, “Just-  _goodnight,_ Dean.… I’ll see you in the morning.”

 

As he leaves, he can hear a small, goodnight come from the man behind him.

 

 

-X-

 

 

Dean can’t sleep, even though he’s utterly exhausted.

 

The physical act of closing his eyes is practically impossible with what is going on in the room adjacent to his. Hell, just being in this foreign-to-him house, one that resides in some small town inside of Illinois, is enough to unsettle him. It's like having a reaction of some sort, and with every single thud of his heart, Dean can feel his resolve breaking beat by beat. He tries to fight it- tries to let it go and just sleep this sour taste in his mouth and this sour feeling in his head and chest off- but he _can't._

 

Mostly, it’s because whenever Dean lets himself begin to relax, his mind paints vivid images of Castiel onto his eyelids. It makes Dean jolt every time, especially so whenever he remembers that Castiel is only a few feet away, but in the arms of another man.

 

The thought of Balthazar makes Dean’s skin crawl, especially so when Dean knows that Balthazar is currently lying next to Castiel, with his body directly against the other man’s. It's as though he were a complementary piece- as if he was meant to actually be there. Yet, here Dean is, with a cold, meaningless ring left on his finger and a cold mattress and blanket around him that aren't even his.

 

As Dean groggily opens his eyes to stare at the digital clock on the nightstand beside him, he believes that there is no worse torture than this. However, Dean is sadly mistaken as he finds his mind beginning to play more nasty tricks on him.

 

The memory of Castiel’s warm form against his own fills his thoughts, along with the smell of that certain brand of peppermint toothpaste- the one that Castiel has always smelled like. Dean’s guessing that because he is here inside of Castiel’s house, that the memories of sensations and scents are stronger than they would be if he were anywhere else. It’s literally as if Castiel had physically been in this bed some time before Dean had crawled into it.

 

However, as a sound comes from the living room, Dean thinks that Castiel might have literally just crawled out of his own bed. For a second, Dean believes that his mind is once again turning on him- that is, until he can hear a muffled shuffling coming from the living room.

 

Dean's sits upright almost instantly after he discerns the sound, and he places his feet onto the cold floor just as whoever is up knocks something over. There's a pause outside of the door, and Dean freezes where he stands as he waits for something to happen.

 

“Oh shit,” and wait- that's _Castiel,_ “That's okay, I guess... I hated that picture anyway.”

 

Dean's confused as he pushes back the door, and he finds Castiel staring at some frame that had once been sitting up on one of the side tables. His face is scrunched up in a scowl, but the worst part is that Dean doesn't have to take another step forward to tell that Castiel is _drunk._

 

Dean attempts to make another quiet footfall when Castiel speaks, “I know you're there, Dean.”

 

“Oh,” Dean whispers, letting his muscles relax, “Sorry, I just heard something fall and I thought-”

 

“Don't bullshit me,” Castiel sounds tired, and with how his shoulders are slumping, Dean is guessing that his assumption isn't that far from the truth, “I can tell that there's a hundred questions swimming around in that brain of yours.”

 

Dean swallows and enters the living room as quietly as he can, “Is this a common thing for you to do?”

 

Castiel pivots to look at Dean, and his eyebrows furrow as he tilts his head, “What do you mean?”

 

“Being drunk,” Dean whispers with concern, “This isn't something you do often, is it?”

 

Castiel snorts softly, and he smiles in a way that is nothing like how it used to be, “I try not to, but some nights...” he pauses, “Some nights I just can't help it, I guess.”

 

Dean's eyes narrow on Castiel as though he were a stranger, “So you're an alcoholic now, is that it?”

 

“ _Nah,_ ” Castiel sounds far too loose and relaxed about this, and it makes Dean furious, “it's not like it happens every night, but... it happens often, I think.”

 

“Don't act like this is okay,” Dean hisses under his breath, “I don't know what's going on, or what's causing you to do things that I know you hate, but this- this right here, being drunk in the middle of the night while your- your _fiancé_ is in the other room asleep, it's not okay, Castiel.”

 

Castiel sighs, and he places the picture back onto side table without a word.

 

Even in the dark, Dean can tell that the glass is cracked, and the only thing keep it remotely together is the frame surrounding it. The small pane had been split almost straight down the middle in one line, and Dean notices that it separates Castiel and Balthazar onto opposite sides. Dean presses his lips together at the sight, and he wonders if more than just the glass that is broken.

 

“Are- are you and Balthazar doing alright, Castiel?”

 

Castiel stares at him, “W-What?”

 

Dean licks his lips and gestures to the man before him, “This getting drunk right before the sun comes up... Does it have anything to do with Balthazar?”

 

Despite the lack of lighting, Dean can tell that Castiel pales at the question.

 

“I mean, I understand that I don't have the right to ask, but-”

 

“No,” Cas interrupts, “you don't.”

 

Dean looks away towards another picture of the couple, and he feels hopeless as to escaping this new personal Hell, “I'm just concerned, okay? I know that- … You used to get onto me whenever I got drunk, and this- this is so unlike you and I'm worried.”

 

There's a pause, and when Castiel speaks, he sounds generally confused, “Why would you be?”

 

“Because-” Dean begins, but he finds that his words are falling short, “I- I don't... You just seem really unhappy here.”

 

Bonus points to Dean Winchester for being _absolutely fucking eloquent_ when it actually matters.

 

Castiel just looks at Dean for a moment, as if he's studying him. Dean shuffles a little bit, feeling dissected by the gaze of the other man. He didn't want to come off weird by asking Castiel about his and Balthazar's relationship- hell, he hadn't even come in here with the intention of doing so- but here is his, with the words already floating around in the air and no explanation to come out of his mouth to properly back it up.

 

Pathetic, honestly.

 

“This isn't what I thought would happen,” Castiel murmurs, and he averts his gaze finally to stare at the broken picture frame once more.

 

Dean wonders if Castiel hates the photos just as much as he does. He wonders if Castiel hates the smiles on both of their faces, if hates the ink composing the moment that they captured, or if hates the location that they took it in. It's just a thought.

 

“What were you expecting?” Dean asks with honesty in his tone, “Sunshine? Rainbows? Something magical?”

 

Castiel huffs, shaking his head, “No, but... I expected something more, I don't know, fulfilling? I can't honestly explain it, but... I just feel disappointed.”

 

Dean quirks a brow, deciding to look at the photo with Castiel, “About what? Me somehow worming my way back into your life for a day? Or is it something more?”

 

“It's everything, actually,” Castiel whispers like it's a secret- like it's something to be ashamed of- and he shakes his head a few moments later, “Just- forget I said anything.”

 

“Forget?” Dean echoes with disbelief, “I don't think I can, Castiel. I know that something here is wrong- that there's something going on behind the scenes that you  _both_ don't want me to be informed about.”

 

“Leave it, Dean,” Castiel's voice is quiet, but heavy with terseness.

 

Dean scoffs, “Wait- you just want me to disregard all of the weird stuff I've been noticing for what, exactly? Pride? There's something off about this relationship of yours, Castiel. I can tell that there's something about Balthazar that you're trying so desperately to hide from me until I leave.”

 

Castiel turns on Dean then, eyes alight with anger, “It has nothing to do with pride or fear, and it has absolutely nothing to do with you either. How does you going off and sticking your nose back somewhere that it actually belongs sound?”

 

“Fine,” Dean hisses with some finality, and he's trying so hard to reign in and keep the boiling rage he feels at the stubborn man before him subdued, “Go ahead and let yourself wallow in self-pity and shit, Castiel. Out of all of the shocking changes I've seen so far, this one takes the whole damn cake.”

 

“And that is?”

 

Dean begins to return to the guest room, far too aware of the stinging of exhaustion that spreads over the strained tendons behind his eyes to the tender edges of his eyelids, “Last time I checked, you're able to just walk away without picking up any of the pieces.”

 

There's a pause as Dean reaches the guest room and goes inside. However, right before he shuts the door, he hears an angry laugh.

 

“So you're pissed about me moving on from you? News flash, Dean, you're the one who did the leaving first!”

 

The bickering ends when Dean slams the bedroom door closed with malice.

 

 


	2. For Better or For Worse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit is gettin' serious. I wasn't joking you guys. Whoa.

 

 

 

 

Dean wakes up around what feels like too-god-damned-early. He groans when he sits up, and he already knows that today is going to be shit- even without dealing with the whole Castiel thing. Yeah, because that's going to make things so much more fun, obviously.

 

Dean puts his feet onto the floor without much enthusiasm, and he's guessing that this is how it feels to wake up alive after being dead for five years.

 

Dean shakes his head as he stares at the boards underneath the bed he's sitting on. With how the past few hours have been going, Dean would probably rather be dead than go through _whatever_ this is- more so with what's about to go down.

 

There's a knock on the door as it creaks open, and Dean looks up to see Castiel avoiding his gaze, “Balthazar was wondering if you were ready to get this whole thing out of the way now...”

 

Dean grips onto the sheets below tightly, “Might as well, right?”

 

Castiel only nods, and he walks away, leaving the door open as he leaves.

 

Dean wipes a hand at his face, because this is what it must feel like when someone is truly _hopeless._

 

When Dean enters the kitchen once more, Balthazar hands Castiel a cup of fresh coffee with a soft smile, and he kisses Castiel's cheek with a fondness that might have rivaled Dean's own when it mattered. However, Castiel isn't thinking about the past or Dean, because he smiles just as affectionately as he had before, and it's as though Dean isn't even there. It's like being a ghost or something, because Dean is ignored as Castiel lets Balthazar wrap an arm around his waist so he pull him close till they're pressed together tightly.

 

“I love you,” Balthazar coos.

 

“Me too,” Castiel whispers back.

 

It's the most painful thing that Dean's ever heard, because for once, that declaration is not for him.

 

“So,” Dean blurts a little bitterly, and the two lovebirds don't seem affected by his small outburst as they look at one another, “where are those forms?”

 

“Right there,” Balthazar points as he puts his face in the crook of the other man's neck, and Castiel has the audacity to fucking laugh as it happens, “Pen's on the end of the counter.”

 

Dean glares daggers at them both as he snatches the papers away from the edge of the counter before they get their "love" all over them. It pisses Dean off so much that he has to take a few minutes to breathe properly, and after he feels somewhat normal, he makes the mistake of looking up.

 

They are still pressed against one another- smiling, laughing- as Dean crushes the poor pen in between his fingers. Dean looks down to the papers, and all of the ink blurs into unintelligible smears and blobs as he hears Balthazar's lips touch Castiel's. It's a gross, wet sound, and it rubs Dean's skin the wrong way with what feels like the roughness of sandpaper.

 

After a few minutes of dealing with the sound and frustration, Dean is glad that they hadn't given him a pencil, because by now, it would surely be broken in two.

 

“Have you signed yet?” Balthazar asks pointedly, panting out the words because he's been far too busy shoving his face against Castiel's to breathe, “You seem to be taking your sweet time.”

 

Dean glares at the paper before him like it's at fault for all of this, “I'm just reading it, is all. That a bad thing?”

 

There's a snort that sounds muffled by skin, Dean knows far too well what they've been doing that can cause that, and Castiel laughs out, “That's okay, Dean.”

 

Dean's other hand, the one that isn't trying to crush a pen, is balled up into a tight fist. It's trembling against the counter rather than flying towards Balthazar's dumb, ugly face, which my be an improvement or a problem depending on how Dean looks at it. Several more seconds of this, and Dean will fucking _explode-_ there's no doubts about it.

 

However, there may be things such as miracles, because next thing Dean knows, there's someone ringing the doorbell.

 

“I'll go get it,” Bathazar declares, and Dean thinks he's about to get some much needed relief, only to see the bastard kiss Cas as he looks up.

 

Bile rises into Dean's throat at the actual, physical version of the nightmare that his brain made a few hours ago. It's not foggy images of Castiel softly pressed against Balthazar's form with his arms gently wrapping around the other's wrist, it's physical- it's real. The legitimate sight only enrages Dean further, especially so when Balthazar begins to walk away and Castiel nearly trails after him like a obsessed teenager. It's like some TV soap opera about a stay-at-home gay couple who have everything that they could ever want, except it _really_ sucks and it's personally offensive.

 

However, as soon as Balthazar is out of the room, Dean stops the puppy love look from overcoming Castiel's features.

 

“Is this _entertaining_ for you?” Dean hisses, and Castiel's face blanks as he looks over, “Is this game _fun_ to play?”

 

“Dean, I don't-”

 

“No, you _do,_ ” Dean grits out, “You know what you and that- that _bastard_ are doing, and it's not fucking fair.”

 

Castiel's brow furrows as he glares, “Fair? This isn't some game like you were thinking, this is life. There is no fair-”

 

Dean gives a quiet, but pissed off laugh, “Oh yeah, because the scales are always gonna be unequal, huh? I'm always gonna get fucked over, right? I mean, standing here watching you two make out like hormonal teenagers really makes me feel like I won the jackpot, man.”

 

“Oh sure, let me spare your precious feelings the sight,” Castiel rolls his eyes, “I'm engaged to him, Dean. We're allowed to kiss and have se-”

 

“No, don't you _dare,_ ” Dean hisses.

 

Castiel's lips pull up into an angry smirk, and he shakes his head, “You're so pathetic.”

 

“I just want to sign these damn papers and _leave,_ ” Dean barely manages to say it, and it's obvious, even to Castiel, that he's about to break apart at the seams, and it causes the other man to slightly back down, “I've got a shitty life to get back to, and seeing you swap spit with that dick isn't gonna help me do that. Now please,” Dean grips onto the edge of the counter and closes his eyes, “if you can give me one thing before I disappear out of your life for good, it's this. Just this.”

 

When Dean looks at Castiel again, the man seems almost awestruck. His mouth is gaping and his eyes are wide, but he doesn't say anything as Dean sighs and picks up that damn pen again.

 

Of course, that's also when Balthazar returns.

 

“It was just the mail man,” he begins, and he comes up behind Castiel as Dean once more struggles just to even stand upright without shaking in rage, “I was talking to him about the wedding invitations. Did you know it's actually pretty cheap to get them sent off?”

 

“No, I didn't...” Castiel murmurs, and their conversation about sending off invites to their- their _wedding-_ goes on as some buzz while Dean looks at the dotted line below.

 

Apparently, some time passes, and it's been enough to cause concern over his own actions- because there's a hand placed on his shoulder suddenly, and a small, quiet voice asks, “Dean, are you okay?”

 

“Fine,” Dean finds that one side of his face is now wet with a tear, and he wipes it away quickly, “I'm _fine._ ”

 

The room quiets after that, leaving Dean wondering if his bluff worked or not. However, it must not have, because even though there is distance between him and Castiel, he can still hear the other's words clearly enough.

 

“He's hurting right now,” Dean takes a broken breath at the utter sincerity in Castiel's voice, “You and I- what we're doing- it's bothering him, Balthazar.”

 

There's a snort, and it makes Dean want to commit murder before he signs or leaves, “What does it matter? It's not like your his anymore, right? He's here to sign divorce forms, Castiel, not rebuild a bridge that he burned to ashes five years ago.”

 

_If only..._

 

“That doesn't mean that this hurts any less for him-”

 

“I don't care about how _he_ feels,” Balthazar snaps, “and you shouldn't either.”

 

Castiel scoffs, “You sound so heartless.”

 

Dean looks up to see Balthazar roll his eyes, "You want me to make an exception for him?"

 

"I'd like you to at least be considerate."

 

Balthazar crosses his arms, and he glares at Castiel, "So you're defending him now, are you?"

 

"I never-"

 

"Really? After all that he's done to you? He broke your heart, Castiel. What earned him the right of you standing up for him?"

 

Good question, sadly.

 

Castiel sighs, and he rubs a hand over his face, "Balthazar, please..."

 

"We're talking about this later," Balthazar hisses, and he turns to Dean to avoid dealing with Castiel, "Are you done with those damn papers now, or what?"

 

Dean puts his hands up in mock surrender, when honestly, all he wants to put up is the bird. Or, you know, maybe two? Two _birds_ with one stone?

 

Dean chuckles without thinking.

 

"Is something funny, Winchester?" Balthazar asks in irritation, "You seem quite smug for what's going on."

 

"Just thought of somethin'," he comments idly, "I mean, if I was going to laugh at something, I would look at your outfit. Because _really?"_

 

Balthazar glares daggers at him, "Who are you, the style police? You sound like some teenager off of the telly."

 

Dean snorts, "No, I'm more so of something a little undercover than pedestrian. Though, if I were a fashion cop, I'd write you a ticket or two."

 

"I don't look bad," Balthazar turns to Castiel for support then, "do I?"

 

Castiel is obviously holding back a laugh, "Well, you are wearing 'as-seen-on-TV' pajama jeans with a polka dot, satin top."

 

Balthazar looks at his clothes with narrowed eyes, "I don't think it looks bad."

 

"Oh trust me," Dean assures with a smirk, "it does."

 

That's when he and Castiel both burst out laughing.

 

"Stop laughing at me!" Balthazar snaps, and it only makes the other two wheeze harder.

 

Balthazar apparently has enough after a few more seconds of both of them giggling at him, and suddenly, Castiel's getting shoved up against a wall roughly.

 

"I told you to stop laughing at me!" Balthazar screams, and Dean is reacting almost instantly.

 

" _Let him go._ "

 

Dean notices how Castiel is glancing between him and Balthazar frantically.

 

Balthazar doesn't listen, though, he keeps on pushing Castiel further and further into the wall, as though he had the intentions of making the other man obliterate by force alone. Dean pushes Balthazar back then by his arm, figuring that if he let this go on for any longer, Castiel could get hurt, and that was _not_ happening.

 

Balthazar reacts to Dean's hand as though it were scalding hot water on his skin, and the noise he makes is practically feral. Balthazar charges at him then, his fingers spread wide and his legs stiff as he throws himself forwards, voice bellowing out in a shot that has Dean reacting in seconds. Balthazar's arm ends up twisted behind his back, and the man struggles to free himself as Castiel watches on, frozen to the wall in shock.

 

"Are you gonna behave like a fucking decent human being, or are you gonna keep bein' an asshat?" Dean grits out, pulling on Balthazar's pinned arm for emphasis.

 

"Let me _go!"_

 

Dean obliges, and he hopes that the man won't lash out at him. However, as Balthazar's eyes lock on Castiel's, causing him to cower against the plaster at his back, Dean believes that letting go of this asshole was a mistake.

 

Balthazar looks as though he's about to lunge towards Castiel, and that's when Dean punches him straight in the face.

 

" _Fuck!"_ Balthazar's attack is stalled by the blood pouring over his chin, and his hands rush up to his nostrils to try and stop or collect the streams of blood that slick his skin, "You're fuckin' unbalanced!"

 

"Yeah, and you're a dick. If you want to find something to stop the bleeding, I suggest looking up your ass for something, considering how much is stuck up inside of it."

 

Balthazar stumbles a little as he flees to go towards the bathroom, and Dean looks towards his bloodied knuckles a moment.

 

"You didn't have to do that."

 

Dean's head snaps up to look at Castiel, only to find him staring at Dean with a mixture of gratefulness and fear, "Just- don't, alright? He deserves a broken nose if he thinks he can do that sort of thing to you."

 

Those words quiet Castiel, and he crosses his arms over his chest and shivers, averting his gaze towards the floor as Dean walks up to him.

 

"Hey, you okay?"

 

Dean gently outstretches a hand, only to have Castiel flinch away from it as it is set on his shoulder.

 

"I don't-" Castiel struggles to say, "I'm sorry that you had to witness that..."

 

Dean furrows his brow, "What are you apologizing for? He's was being a dick to you, Castiel. That's not your fault. You don't have to say sorry for that."

 

"But I _laughed_ at him-" Castiel cuts himself off, shaking his head, "Just, could you sign the papers and leave, Dean?"

 

Dean stares at the man before him for a few seconds.

 

"Wait, you want me to just disregard what I just saw?"

 

"Dean, please," Castiel brings his arms up to plead with Dean, and that's when _they_ come into view, and the argument stalls.

 

Big blotches of purple and blue stand out starkly against Castiel's forearms, and Dean stares at every single one of them.

 

"Castiel," Dean murmurs, "is that what I think it is?"

 

Castiel waits for a few moments, and each one passes with a heavy silence.

 

"Balthazar doesn't mean to-"

 

"Be honest."

 

This time, Castiel doesn't even speak.

 

" _Oh my god,_ " Dean has to walk back over to the counter for support, and he closes his eyes as he grips onto it, "Are you being serious right now?"

 

Silence.

 

"What's keeping you here if it's like that? Seriously, I just want to know, because I'm at a loss here."

 

"He wasn't always like this, Dean. He was nice and caring and everything I needed after you left me-"

 

"So now you're _defending_ him, too? Now you're going to make him sound like some savior?" Dean asks with shock as he pivots to look at Castiel, "I don't know what you're telling yourself to believe this, Castiel, but last time I checked, there ain't no fairytale about how the knight in shining armor beats his damsel in distress for laughs."

 

Castiel presses his lips together and crosses his arms over his chest, and all the while his gaze is averted, "He- we- ... I don't know if I can explain it to you correctly, Dean."

 

"I don't think there's a correct reason for you to even attempt to be here with that dick."

 

As water rushes in a bathroom somewhere in the house, the two are reminded of the situation at hand.

 

"Not here," Castiel whispers, looking almost skittish now that he remembers Balthazar's presence, " _please._ "

 

Dean sighs and rubs a hand over his face, "This whole situation just got a whole lot more fucked up for the both of us. Like, I don't even think you _know_ how serious this just got, considering you want to stay here with this asshole."

 

"Dean-"

 

"We're talking about this outside," Dean hisses, " _Now._ "

 

 

**-X-**

 

 

Castiel stands next to Dean barefoot. He’s in nothing but pajama pants and a bathrobe. They stand there quietly for a moment while Dean tries not to make Balthazar’s gas line leak or something else that will lead to a fatal accident. It’s hard to keep himself still.

 

“Dean-”

 

“No, Castiel,” Dean grits out, “Y’know, I thought you were supposed to be better off, that you were ‘getting on with your life’,” Dean gives a humorless laugh, “God, Castiel, what kind of lie are you tryin’ to tell yourself to stay in this Hell?”

 

Castiel glares at Dean, “I’ve had enough lies for a lifetime, Dean… I know what Balthazar is like-”

 

“Yet you _stay?”_ Dean brings his arm out in a dramatic gesture, and some of Castiel’s neighbors look on in interest, “You told me on the phone that you were marrying this prick, and what is he-”

 

“Not so loud,” Castiel asserts quietly, and Dean only reels it in because of the nearby pedestrians and for Castiel’s reputation with them, “I know that Balthazar isn’t the kindest man-” Dean chuckles emptily at that, “but he loves me, despite his rough edges.”

 

Dean rolls his eyes, “Yeah well, I’d say he just loves to _beat_ you-”

 

“And you loved your job too much!” Castiel counters, but realizes how loud he is and quiets himself and crosses his arms, quieting himself, and it makes him look smaller as he averts his eyes and murmurs, “Do you have a cigarette?”

 

Dean narrows his eyes, “Uh, excuse me? Did I really just hear those words come out of your mouth together?”

 

Castiel sighs and uncrosses one arm to hold out his hand out openly to him, “Dean Winchester, I know you’ve never quit smoking. Just give me a damn cigarette and your lighter.”

 

“But you hate smoking,” Dean argues weakly as he eyes the willing palm before him, one that used to try and smack away the cigarette in his mouth years prior- one that's now willing to hold it so its owner can breathe in the hazardous fumes, “You used to nag on and on about it when I did it around you.”

 

Castiel makes a sad smile, “Things changed… _I_ changed.”

 

The simple admission internally destroys Dean, but he remains silent and hands over his lighter and pack of cigarettes without a reply. Castiel takes the box gratefully, mumbling a thanks as he removes one and returns the pack. Dean watches in utter shock as Castiel just lights the cigarette in his mouth, looking relieved to be inhaling the toxic smoke. Dean’s gaze only grows more attentive as Castiel exhales, his chapped lips somewhat parted as a thick cloud of white smoke bellows out and into the air.

 

Castiel sighs, holding the cigarette in between his fingers as he looks at Dean again, “So, are you going to kill Balthazar or not?”

 

Well, that’s down to business, but then again, that’s how they were sometimes, “I’m seriously debating it… Why haven’t you done anything? I know for a fact that you can protect yourself, Castiel. Why are you just sittin’ back and letting this asshole beat you?”

 

Castiel takes another drag on Dean’s cigarette, “I vowed myself that I would never hurt anyone else again, Dean… Well, unless it was absolutely necessary.”

 

“How is _this_ an exception?” Dean pulls out a cigarette for himself and lights it, “How come you aren’t layin’ his ass out six ways till Sunday and back again?”

 

“Because, Dean…” Castiel’s counter argument falls silent.

 

“ _Because_ ain’t good enough, Castiel.”

 

There’s a small snort from him, and Dean can’t help but slightly smirk at the fact Castiel’s attitude has kept growing over the past few years, “I wish it was.”

 

“You and me both,” Dean exhales, watching people jog by with their little show dogs and their trendy yoga pants- all so domestic, “So, what are we gonna do now?”

 

“What we had planned on originally,” Castiel states easily as he inhales and exhales smoke into the air like a miniscule reprieve, “You’re going to sign the divorce forms, and then you’re going to leave. Just like you were supposed to.”

 

Dean makes a face at Castiel, “You’ve got to be kidding me…”

 

“What?”

 

Dean taps off some of the ash on his cigarette, “You’re gonna tell me to just drive off when this asshole fuckin’ hits and bruises you? What the _hell,_ Cas? Yeah, I was just going to leave after I signed your damn papers, but that was before I knew what he was doin’ to you-”

 

“And you don’t have to worry about it, Dean. It’s not your business anymore-”

 

“You’re technically _still_ my husband,” Dean argues, “so it _still_ is.”

 

They stand in silence after that, smoking on Castiel’s porch as if they were just a couple fighting through some of their problems. Dean wishes it were that simple- wishes that they were still together; that this is their house and neighborhood. Even if that fantasy is a long shot, he at least wishes that Balthazar didn’t hurt Castiel- that Cas was actually happy with the new life he was trying to live. But sadly, Dean’s wishes never really come true.

 

“How did things get so complicated?” he murmurs in a remorseful way, taking a light drag of his cigarette, “How did we ever drift so far apart?”

 

Castiel turns to glare at Dean, as if the answer were obvious, and knowing Dean, it probably is, “We fell _out_ of love, Dean Winchester, because you didn’t want to give up your dream of shooting cons and framing mobsters. We left each other because the promise we made- the one at that altar- apparently wasn’t enough for you. Picket fences and mowed yards weren’t enough. _I_ wasn’t enough-”

 

“ _Don’t,_ ” Dean closes his eyes, remembering how Castiel had been underneath him- against him- during the years they were together, and now, here they are, so far apart and still drifting further away, “I’m an absolute asshole, okay? I should have listened to you when you tried to get me to leave that shit…”

 

Dean’s eyelids fly open as he suddenly hears a sob, and he looks over to see Cas wiping at his cheeks, and he’s about to console him as Cas cries out, “Why, of all times and out of all the chances you've had, Dean Winchester, do you choose _now_ to tell me this?”

 

“Because I’m an idiot,” Dean answers in a calm, but solemn tone, “I didn’t know what I had until I lost it.”

 

“So that stereotypical and cliche line is supposed to make everything _okay?”_ Castiel’s eyes are bloodshot and watery, and his cigarette lays on the porch below, forgotten, “You just show up in my life years later- when I’m trying to fucking _move on-_ and you just sit here and tell me you were _wrong?_ How in the fuck is that supposed to change what you said, Dean- how is that supposed to erase what you did? How can telling me you feel regret over it all change the fact that we haven’t seen or talked to each other in _five years?”_

 

Dean watches as Castiel feverishly wipes at his eyes to void them of traitorous tears, and Dean just simply replies with, “It’s not supposed to.”

 

“Then why say it at all, you _asshole?”_ Castiel’s throat catches on an inhale roughly, causing his words to come out broken and uneven, “Why tell me all of this when it’s too late?”

 

Dean looks down at the boards below, waiting for Castiel to calm down enough to breathe.

 

After a few moments, Castiel doesn't look deprived anymore, and Dean goes on, “Because I just wanted you to know that I’m sorry, Castiel, and that I was wrong… even if it doesn’t make a difference to say it now.”

 

“This doesn’t mean I forgive you, if that's what you're thinking,” Castiel hisses, his anger still as fresh as it was that night when Dean refused to stay like he had promised, “This doesn’t mean that I can just _forget_ what you did.”

 

Dean sighs as he stares out towards the sun bleached road, “I know it won’t, but it’s better than saying nothin’ at all.”

 

Castiel makes a face, “You always waited till it was pointless to do anything.”

 

“I know.”

 

Castiel doesn’t seem happy with Dean (as if he wasn’t before), causing the air to grow heavy around them.

 

Dean’s telling him that he was wrong- that he _regrets_ ever walking out that door knowing he didn’t have the intention of ever walking back through it. However, it’s uttered when Castiel is beginning a new life without Dean; when Castiel has decided he was done waiting for the other man to get his fucking act together, and that it was time to call it quits and close the curtains.

 

“God, Cas,” Dean hisses out, his chest heavy with guilt, “I know you’re mad at me- and you have every right to be… I just- why _Balthazar?_ Why would you try to move on with this asshole when all he does it hurt you?”

 

Castiel looks at Dean, his gaze distant, “Don’t worry about it, Dean. I told you, it’s not your business to know.”

 

“So you’re just going to shut me out? Again, no less?”

 

“Feels awful, _doesn’t it?”_ Cas’ eyes gain their fire again, and Dean has to stop himself from taking a step back in surprise, “You’re not in my life anymore, Dean. You chose to leave me out of it for a damn gun, a muscle car, and a fucking thrill you just couldn’t have enough of. I understand that I may be a hypocrite in some ways, that I haven’t been so truthful myself, but I at least was willing to walk away from it when our skeletons made it out of their closets. You just couldn’t. So Dean, if you wanted to stay in my life, you shouldn’t have chose to walk away. It's just that fucking simple.”

 

Dean gawks at Castiel as the man sighs, entering his house as though Dean weren’t good enough for him- as though Dean wasn't worth the effort or time anymore.

 

Dean could agree.

 

“Balthazar?” Castiel calls out from inside, and Dean decides that Castiel won’t be left alone with this man- well, as long as he can keep a damn eye on them.

 

He sighs, puts his cigarette out with the toe of his boot, and he decides to return to the mess that has become Castiel's new life before anything else happens.

 

Despite knowing that Balthazar is a bomb just waiting to go off, when Dean enters the room, he still isn’t expecting what he sees. Castiel has his hands held up in a silent plea- his face, well, to say at the least, is in a disappointed mixture of weak impassiveness and fear- as Balthazar holds up a gun towards him.

 

“ _You!”_ Balthazar turns the gun on Dean, the barrel shaking slightly in fear, his nose still bleeding into the crimson-stained rag that he’s loosely holding up to it with his other hand, “D-Don’t you get near me! I _will_ shoot you, prick!”

 

Dean joins Castiel at his side slowly, his hands finding themselves in the same position of surrender.

 

“Balthazar,” Castiel speaks calmly, as if his ‘fiancé’ isn’t holding him up at gunpoint- as if he didn’t abuse him- and he’s just having some dramatic fit, “Dean isn’t going to hurt you, I promise,” no promises there, actually, “I spoke to him outside, and all he’s going to do is sign our papers and leave. There's no need for all of this.”

 

Balthazar’s eyes leave Dean, but the gun's barrel doesn’t.

 

“So I don’t have to worry about finding poison in my tea, or a bomb underneath my c-car!?”

 

Castiel shakes his head slowly, his voice soft, gestures slow and calculated, as though Balthazar were an animal stuck in a corner fighting for its life, “No, Balthazar. You won’t.”

 

“I wouldn’t necessarily say it'll be a _bomb,_ but if you find that your break lines are cut or-”

 

“ _Dean!”_ Castiel scolds angrily, cauging Balthazar’s attention to rest fully on him (ha, as if that's going to keep him safe), “Balthazar, please… Just- drop the gun.”

 

When Balthazar doesn’t lower the barrel from its position, which makes it aim at the center of Dean’s face, Castiel slowly slinks over to Balthazar. He slides over to his side carefully, quietly, and Dean watches with his stomach clenching uncomfortably. The poor excuse of a man looks over to Castiel, and Castiel decides to place his lips on Balthazar’s lightly.

 

Bile riles in Dean’s throat, fire rages in his chest, and his eyes still in their sockets to remain locked onto the image before him. It’s something else Dean will see etched into the blackness of his eyelids as he tries to sleep, something his mind will reforge in his dreams turn into nightmares, and something his conscious will use when it comes time to fire some self-loathing ammo. Castiel kissing Balthazar- Cas kissing _anyone-_ is enough to drive Dean mad. Madder than he’s ever been at one of his targets, madder than when that dick a few years back decided to try and steal his Impala while he was drunk. The thought- the image- of Castiel’s lips on another… it breaks Dean.

 

As if he wasn’t broken enough already.

 

"If you drop the gun, Dean can sign the forms and he can leave. We can all just move past this."

 

“Castiel,” Balthazar weakly huffs, and Dean sees his slithery arm wrap around his waist possessively, “Is it really going to go back to how it was between us? …”

 

Now, for once, this is where Dean’s intense knowledge of all things Castiel comes in handy. Dean knows the subtle shifts in his form, the minute twitches of his expressions like the back of his hand. Right now, Castiel is scared. However, since Balthazar doesn’t care enough to learn the smallest of details to the most amazing man in the world, he won’t realize that “how it was” is something that Castiel no longer wants.

 

Huh, Dean can relate.

 

“Yes,” Castiel replies softly, his jaw locks up after it shuts, his breaths quicken, and his shoulders tense ever so lightly.

 

Balthazar notices none of this.

 

“I’ve already phoned for the police-”

 

“What!?” Castiel jumps back almost immediately, “You called the fucking cops!?”

 

Balthazar turns the gun on Castiel at that and Dean snaps.

 

It’s a blur of fists and crimson for Dean, the sound of Castiel’s voice faint in the background. All that matters is hurting Balthazar for even thinking about hurting Castiel. He’s going to beat it into this man’s bones if he has to, just to give him the lesson of never laying an abusive finger on Castiel ever again.

 

“Dean!” Castiel’s hand grabs onto Dean’s arm as it raises, stalling Dean from adding another punch onto Balthazar’s already beaten flesh as he coughs out blood, “Dean, please… The cops are on their way and you need to leave-”

 

“What-”

 

“Please,” Castiel pulls Dean up, his face merely inches from the other’s as he exhales his words softly, “I don’t want you getting arrested over this… Just go.”

 

Dean looks at Castiel with wide eyes, “But Cas-”

 

Castiel puts a single finger on Dean’s lips, and a small part of Dean relishes in the contact that he’s been starved of for so long, “No arguing this time, Dean Winchester. For once, I want you to leave, and it’s for the better. Now get in your damn Impala and drive back to wherever you were before I called you, okay?”

 

“Don’t you still need my signature?”

 

“I-” Castiel pauses, “don’t worry about that. Balthazar and I will figure this out, one way or another. Just get out of here.”

 

Dean can hear sirens getting louder outside, “Cas, you’re stayin’ with him? After all of this!?”

 

“Dean, please, _go-”_

 

However, their argument is interrupted with the cocking of a gun, and they turn to face Balthazar holding his pistol at both of them.

 

“I-I’ll shoot! Both of you, if I have to!” Balthazar coughs, “I swear it!”

 

Castiel eyes Balthazar in fear, and Dean begins to guide them out of the door, “Come on, Cas…”

 

“But Dean-”

 

Dean pulls Castiel close enough that he can hear the words as they’re hissed from his lips, “Cas, the cops are coming and he might shoot the both of us. Come on.”

 

Castiel doesn’t argue, his limbs moving numbly as Dean guides them both outside. He gets inside of the Impala with no fight, and as soon as Dean drives them down the road, the cops pull up in the driveway. Castiel looks back towards his house, and Dean can hear the hitches in his breath before he sees the tears painting his cheeks.

 

“Castiel-”

 

“ _No,_ ” Castiel wipes at his eyes tiredly, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

 

“You’re gonna have to. Castiel, he’s gonna get the cops after us both because he’s gonna accuse me of being a kidnapper, more than likely. This isn’t a fight we’re gonna win.”

 

Castiel huffs a solemn laugh, “I think we’ve lost all of them, Dean.”

 

“That’s why I’m tellin’ you that you have to make a game plan- a backup- Castiel. That bastard is gonna come after me for beatin’ the shit out of him, and he'll come after you once that case and the door is closed. You and both know that this will more than likely end with the verdict of a jury.”

 

“Are you going to try and plead innocent,, if it does come to that?” Cas turns to see Dean, the whites of his eyes still reddened, and his voice slightly shakes.

 

Dean shrugs nonchalantly, “I don’t know… Are you going to go after him for beatin’ you?”

 

“I don't know, it's... it's complicated. I still love him, and I still want to be with him, so... I guess not.”

 

Dean pulls into a random driveway, pushing roughly onto to the breaks as Castiel braces himself against the dashboard.

 

“Dean, what the _fuck-”_

 

“You’re a fucking idiot.”

 

Castiel glares at him, “You have no right to label me, Dean Winchester.”

 

He scoffs, “I do when you’re letting yourself get fucked over by some obsessive and abusive prick!”

 

"He wasn't always like this, Dean," Castiel hisses out, "He was there for me when you weren't. He said all the things I needed to hear- he offered a shoulder when you turned yours against me. There would be days where he'd speak to me in nothing but poems, telling me about how perfect I was and that he loved me. He'd leave me roses sometimes just because he felt like it, and there wasn't a huge occasion urged him take me out to some fancy dinner every week. He even took me on a ski trip, Dean, just because he could. For a few months, he was perfect. It's just been recently that he's been... different."

 

Dean shakes his head, "Yeah, and how he _was_ is supposed to excuse how _is_ now."

 

“You talk so much shit, but you're nothing but a hypocrite, Dean. You want to know the difference between you and him? I actually love him!”

 

“How can you?” Dean looks at Castiel incredulously, feeling like shit because of those words, “Stockholm Syndrome?”

 

The other man grimaces at Dean before shaking his head, “We aren’t in the position for you to analyze me in a stranger's driveway, Dean. Drive.”

 

Dean lets it go for the sake of them getting arrested, and the the Impala returns to roaring down the road as Dean tries to quit glancing at the broken man that was once his beloved husband.

 

 

**-X-**

 

**_-_ _{May 23rd, 1998}_ _-_**

 

 

Dean is getting ready for the big day, and he straightens his graduation cap as he looks in the mirror. A noise catches his attention, and he sees his mother looking on proudly from the doorway.

 

Dean can see her clutch at her chest as a solemn smile appears on her face, “My baby boy’s all grown up…”

 

“I’m only eighteen, mom.”

 

“Your graduation is tomorrow, Dean Winchester!” she scolds lightly, coming into the room to absently fix the navy robe adorning her eldest son, “Don’t disregard my feelings because you aren’t aware of how much of an adult you’ve become!”

 

Dean chuckles at his mom, especially as she begins fretting about his tassels, “Mom, it’s okay. I don’t have to be perfect for it.”

 

Mary gives her son a look of ‘mother-knows-best’ as she straightens out the strands of yellow and red string, “You only walk across that stage _once_ in your life, Dean. I want my baby to look absolutely breathtaking up there as he gets his diploma.”

 

“I can give that effect in regular clothes, mom.”

 

Mary smacks his head lightly as they both laugh softly over the joke, “You _are_ pretty, Dean. I’m just so glad you got my looks instead of John’s.”

 

“Please, I don’t wanna have to hear the ‘John sucks’ speech again.”

 

“Well, he _does_ suck,” Dean snorts at his mother as she sighs, “Promise me one thing, Dean. Could you do that?”

 

“Sure, I guess... What is it?”

 

Mary comes over, cupping Dean’s face lightly with her soft palms. Well, Dean knows that a speech is on its way, but that's alright, considering.

 

For all of his life, Dean’s wondered how his mom has managed. With having two needy sons and an alcoholic husband at one point, she seems to have done well for herself. Especially now that she works as the manager for the local diner, that John is long gone, and both of her boys have grown to be independent people.

 

However, Dean’s thoughts are stalled by the look in his mother’s eyes. Her smile is warm and as vibrant as Dean remembers when he was four, stuffing his face with her first homemade pie. Her hair is still like golden threads of silk, shifting slightly as a few tears slip down her cheek in pride for her son. However, the look is slightly short lived as she begins to give Dean one of her many life lessons.

 

“Dean, I want you to promise me that when you fall in love, that you make sure you’re not going to end up like John and I.”

 

“That’s a weird request-”

 

Dean is silenced by his mother’s finger, “Dean, listen to me. I’m being serious.”

 

He nods, and Mary wipes at the few tears that have moved down her face, “I don’t want you to hurt like that. When your father and I split, I- Dean, it was a tough experience.”

 

Dean knows, he was there for the tears and the late nights spent being held tightly to his mother’s side as she tried to pull her broken heart back together piece by piece.

 

“It took me years to find myself again," she whispers, "I still cared about him, even if John gave me no reason to still love him.”

 

“He was a dick though.”

 

She smirks, but places her hand over Dean’s chest lightly and turns serious, “Dean, I want you to listen to me when I say this, alright?”

 

“Okay…”

 

Mary takes a breath, placing her opposite hand over her chest, “When we’re born, our hearts are whole. It remains that way until we meet our parents or family, and then little pieces break off and they are given to those you love. It sounds like an unfair deal, until you realize that those you’ve chosen to love give you a piece of themselves to fill in the gaps.”

 

Dean quirks a brow, “Mom-”

 

“Dean,” she sighs, but smiles, “You’ve got a piece of me, I’ve got a piece of you. It means that we care about one another. You can do this with anyone, Dean.”

 

“I don’t understand where this is going.”

 

Mary removes her hand from her chest and gives Dean one of her looks, “What I’m trying to say is Dean, you have to be careful. The more you end up caring about someone, you’re going to find yourself giving more of heart to them. You need to decide how much of you that you’re going to entrust in someone, Dean, because if they leave…” her hand falls from Dean’s chest, and her smile falters, “They take that part of you with them.”

 

Dean quirks a brow, “What about me? If we go separate ways, what am I left with?”

 

“It depends on how much of themselves they give to you, Dean,” she smiles sadly, “Love is a strange thing. You fall into it, you fall out of it. You try to protect yourself and all you end up getting is scarred. You can play it safe but still end up losing,” Mary sighs and cups Dean’s face gently, “When you decide to call it quits, and you decide that leaving is better than staying, you’ll hurt. You see, that piece in your chest that was once theirs, it aches. It hurts because you still have a part of them with you, and you carry it in your heart wherever you go like a chip on your shoulder. John is a part of me just as much as I am a part of him, Dean, and it hurts when you realize that it wasn’t supposed to be that way.”

 

Dean takes a breath, leaning into his mother’s hand and taking her words to heart- one that has a big piece of her in it, “Alright… I promise, mom.”

 

 

 

**-X-**

 

**- _{Present}_ \- **

 

 

Dean watches as cars pass his on the highway, his eyes staying on the road rather than the man in his passenger seat. However, his mind seems content with lingering on Castiel whether or not Dean gives his approval on such a thing.

 

He thinks about how long he and Castiel have been apart, and how there only a few inches between them now. He thinks about how he slid that ring on Castiel’s finger, and how Castiel is trying to currently slide it off, legally, for good. He thinks about how he promised Castiel everything, and how he broke that promise alongside Castiel’s heart.

 

Dean’s grip on the wheel tightens, and he tries to feign off any emotion that tries to forge itself somewhere deep inside of himself.

 

“How long do I have to stay here with you brooding in your car?” Castiel asks after a long period of complete silence.

 

“I don’t know,” Dean doesn’t look at him, doesn’t think he can, “Depends on if you’re willing to go back to that bastard-”

 

Castiel huffs a breath, “He has a name, Dean.”

 

Dean rolls his eyes, even though Castiel more than likely can’t see the action, “I don’t give a damn, Castiel. He’s a fucking asshole and I’m not going to forgive him for what he’s done.”

 

“Which is what, exactly?”

 

Dean almost slams the brakes again with how fucking idiotic that question is, but he goes for an expression of pure disbelief, “Are you fucking kidding me!?”

 

“Just answer me, Dean,” Castiel eyes him seriously, and Dean has to force himself to pay attention to the highway in front of him, “What did Balthazar do wrong?”

 

“He hurt you,” Dean states angrily, “He hurts you _on purpose._ ”

 

Castiel gives a small, sad huff that could be called a chuckle on a good day, “So where does that leave him?”

 

Dean doesn’t believe what he’s hearing, but he answers anyways, “It leaves him in a shithole, obviously. He needs to have his ass handed to him for treating you like that.”

 

“So you’re saying that Balthazar deserves to get what’s coming to him because he hurt me?”

 

“Yeah, that’s what I’m trying to say… Why are you asking me this?”

 

Dean glances over to see Castiel smirking at him coldly, “You did the same thing to me, Dean.”

 

“No I didn’t!” Dean snaps, “I never beat you, Cas! I never turned my anger on you when I was having a bad day like he does! All I did was-”

 

“Break my heart,” Castiel interrupts, “and you lied to me, and you broke your promise of staying with me even though I wanted to fix things, and you left me for some damn job that nearly got us both killed-”

 

“God, you’re such a fucking saint in this, aren’t you!?” Dean yells, and Castiel just takes the words in with a cold, stony expression on his features, “You never did anything wrong! The fault is all on me! I’m the reason everything went to shit because I didn’t want to leave the only thing I ever found myself to be good at!”

 

Castiel laughs angrily, “Bullshit! You could fix cars, Dean! You could take some rusty piece of junk and turn it into something that looked straight off the production line! You could have worked at a garage or gone and refurbished cars for a living, but no! The only thing you cared about polishing was a damn gun so you could fire a bullet into someone’s chest because a mysterious man on the phone ordered you to!”

 

Dean pulls off onto a ramp, deciding he can’t drive on the highway anymore with him and Castiel screaming back and forth like this, “You keep pretending that I’m the only one-”

 

“No, you don’t get to pull that card!” Castiel hisses, “I backed out, you didn’t! I wanted to start a new life because I felt like I didn’t have one! Apparently that wasn’t what your little dream included!”

 

Dean pulls into the back of a questionable gas station’s parking lot, cutting the engine so he can pivot his torso to face Castiel now that he doesn’t have to focus fully on driving, “I couldn’t just leave this, Castiel! I couldn’t drop every single thing I built my life up around because you got cold feet with your ‘old job’! I couldn’t walk away from the only thing I’ve ever known-”

 

“You knew me, but that didn’t stop you any!”

 

The line stuns them both into silence. Dean’s face goes lax with shock as Castiel decides his glare would be better focused on the Impala’s dashboard. However, Dean decides to stare at Castiel. He is currently trying to remember how they got to the point of screaming themselves hoarse from arguing, how they managed to fuck things up between them both stupendously.

 

He doesn’t really come up with anything useful- well, he does, but he doesn’t want to acknowledge it.

 

“Are you hungry?” Dean asks quietly.

 

Castiel is probably about to tell Dean to go fuck himself as his stomach growls loudly amongst the silence, and he just nods his head in defeat.

 

 

**-X-**

 

**- _{May 24th, 1998}_ \- **

 

Castiel sits among his peers as the last of his graduating class is called out. They’re somewhere in the “V’s” at the moment, and he finds himself thinking about life as the uncalled name count dwindles down slowly.

 

He vaguely recalls freshman year at this point. Honestly, most of high school is now a blur for him. He doesn’t quite understand how he could lose four years worth of memories so quickly, but he dismisses it for the fact that school was usually boring and bland, not really offering Castiel anything to remember it by.

 

Well, minus one thing.

 

Castiel can picture the memory clearly. It had been the first day of school, and he was fresh-faced and ready to see how his classes were going to be. He had high hopes for the school year, and was excited to figure out how his computer class was going to work out for him now that it was the first year this school could afford to offer it.

 

However, his mind was so preoccupied with his thoughts that he didn’t realize he was literally walking straight into someone.

 

Castiel fell back on his ass with anything but grace, and the asphalt below did nothing to cushion the force of the fall. Castiel groaned and rubbed at his side, wondering how he was going to bruise after this and if could manage sitting in a desk without wincing.

 

“ _Shit- ow, my head!”_ a deep voice had caught Castiel’s attention, and his gaze drifted up to see some other boy rubbing at his skull roughly, his eyes shut from the pain, “ _God, are you made from metal? Damn…_ ”

 

“ _Sorry, I didn’t realize you were in front of me,_ ” Castiel stood up then, brushing himself off as the other boy fixed himself too, “ _I was… preoccupied._ ”

 

The other kid snorted, “ _Y_ _eah, I can tell… What’s your name?”_

 

“ _Castiel Novak,_ ” he saw the boy offer his hand forward, so Castiel took it in his own and shook it lightly, “ _What’s yours?”_

 

“ _Dean Winchester,_ ” he had said as he began to put the strap of his black backpack over his shoulder again.

 

Apparently, that’s all Dean had wanted, and he turned to start walking away. However, Castiel was confused.

 

“ _Wait!”_

 

“ _Yeah?”_ Dean had turned to look at him.

 

Castiel furrowed his brow then and had looked at Dean curiously, “ _Why did you want to know my name?”_

 

“ _That way if I ever walk into you again,_ ” Dean smiled then, something bright and warm like summer heat, “ _I_ _’ll already know who you are._ ”

 

Castiel had let him leave then, shaking his head and biting his bottom lip as he left for class.

 

They never did bump into each other after that.

 

The only reminder Castiel had of the legitimate run-in was just having his ass sore for a week, and the pain caused the memory to seep into his mind like some parasite. Months down the road, way past the time allowable for Castiel to think of that moment, he remembered Dean. He’d sit in bed and he’d wonder about him for a couple of minutes. Nothing more, nothing less. However, Castiel found it to become something close to a habit for him.

 

_Get in bed, toss around for a few minutes, think of Dean Winchester, sleep. Repeat every night until sitting at graduation._

 

Castiel holds back a small chuckle at the thought.

 

“Dean Winchester!”

 

There’s a cheer from the crowd- his family, obviously- and Castiel’s gaze flutters up to the stage to see a boy he’s thought of every night from freshman year till this point. He’s taller now, his shoulders are broader. His hair is still in that buzz-cut style and is the same color as when Castiel first felt it unceremoniously brush up against his face as they practically body slammed one another. Castiel strains in his seat to watch Dean get off the stage, and the same bright and warm grin is on his face that had been present when Castiel told him his name is there.

 

Yet, despite the sea of faces he's sitting in, Dean manages to find his eyes, and that smile somehow grows in its brilliance. He waves towards Castiel, mouthing ‘we made it dude!’ before sitting down and leaving Castiel feeling slightly flustered.

 

Dean Winchester remembered him too?

 

 

**-X-**

 

**- _{Present}_ \- **

 

It must be a sad sight to see. Two grown men ( _brooding_ men, mind you) sitting silently at some unknown diner off of a highway exit. They have nothing to really say to each other, or at least, it’s nothing polite and appropriate for public. So instead, they sit and sulk against the cracked, facade leather of the booth as they go over a limited menu of greasy foods.

 

Yeah, a sad sight to see indeed.

 

“What are you getting?” Dean asks.

 

He’s still hurt about earlier, but too hungry and tired to do anything about it.

 

Castiel sits in front of him, hunkering down in his seat. Without his bathrobe, he looks smaller- vulnerable. Dean tries not to dwell on the development, but rather focus on the other’s response. It’s hard to do when he looks so rugged and exhausted.

 

Thankfully, Castiel takes a few moments, allowing Dean to pull himself together in the silence, and when he speaks he answers quietly, “I’m thinking about pancakes… You?”

 

“I’m going for the sampler.”

 

“That sounds like a heart attack waiting on a plate.”

 

Dean just snorts, “Well you know me, I like doing stupid stuff.”

 

Cas partially smirks, and it’s the most ground Dean’s made in five years.

 

The waitress keeps things short and sweet, giving Castiel his water and Dean his coffee without asking too many questions. Dean’s glad, or he’s at least happy that she can read their expressions and realize they’re not in a conversational mood.

 

The two eat their food in silence, awkwardly glancing at one another as they eat pitiful forkfuls of mediocre pancakes or hashbrowns. Yet, despite trying his hardest not to stare, Dean notices that a bruise has formed on Castiel’s face from where Balthazar hit him, and how he winces when he moves his arm. Dean decides to bring it up later to at least give Castiel time to finish his flapjacks.

 

“You can stop staring at me, Dean,” Castiel weakly argues, and Dean notices that he’s about as ready to fight again as he himself is.

 

“You’re hurt.”

 

“S’nothing new…” Castiel mumbles around some pancake, and he swallows, “I’m used to dealing with bruises and the soreness.”

 

Dean tilts his head, “You just take it?”

 

Castiel cuts off more of his food with his fork, wincing as he goes, and he keeps his eyes down instead of looking at Dean, “Don’t worry about it, Dean. I’m fine.”

 

“Cas-”

 

Castiel just looks up, and his look of utter defeat makes Dean lay down his guns.

 

How did it ever get like this?

 

 

**-X-**

 

**- _{May 24th, 1998}_ \- **

 

 

Dean hugs Sammy and Mary, their smiles wide on their faces.

 

“I’m free!” Dean jokes, and his family chuckles.

 

However, Mary’s happiness is short lived, because her expression sours as she uses her impassive voice, “John.”

 

“Mary,” John’s deep voice catches Dean’s attention, and the eldest Winchester son turns to see his father.

 

“Dad?”

 

John smiles, “Hey, Dean.”

 

Dean can’t help but gawk at the situation, “You came?”

 

“Course I did,” he says incredulously, “I’m not gonna miss my either of my boys' graduations.”

 

“You were supposed to,” Mary argues, “In fact, we _expected_ it.”

 

John’s smile falters, but he doesn’t argue with her, “I made sure to surprise you guys, then.”

 

Though, that seems like that's all he has to say on the matter, because suddenly, John pulls Dean aside. However, the most surprising thing is that it's hard to find a trace of alcohol on John. Dean understood that the reason his parents split was John’s devout addiction to the bottle, so he’s kind of surprised to find no evidence of it now.

 

“You cleaned yourself up,” Dean says in surprise, “What sobered you?”

 

“A wonderful and patient woman named Kate Milligan.”

 

Dean makes a face, “What’s wrong with mom?”

 

John sighs, putting a hand on his shoulder- Dean doesn’t know if he wants it there or not, “I know that ship has sailed away and got lost at sea. Mary wants nothing to do with me, even if I still love her.”

 

“You do?”

 

John nods, his expression saddened as he smiles, “'Course I do. She gave me two perfect sons, made me feel like I was on top of the world before I was dumb enough to think a drink could do the same thing. She didn’t have time to wait for me to sober up with two baby boys clingin’ onto her sides. I don’t blame her for ditching me.”

 

“So you go off and get with another woman?” Dean raises a judgmental brow, “Seems a lil’ contradicting, if I do say so myself. And maybe a little pathetic, too”

 

John doesn't seem to be offended, “That’s because it is, Dean. Life isn’t somethin’ you can really figure out, so it’s no surprise that you get a little lost along the way with other people. Relationships are probably the hardest thing to have in your life. It’s so simple to just say ‘fuck it all’ and leave to find some cave to become a hermit in, but it’s also the stupidest.”

 

Dean just looks at John.

 

“You need people in your life, Dean,” John assures him, “You need shoulders, you need backs against yours. You’re gonna stumble along the way till you find someone right, and even then you’re still prone to mess up.”

 

“Then why try at all?” Dean blinks at his father, one who hasn’t really been a shoulder _or_ a back against his own over the years, “Why try to find em’ if you can still lose em’?”

 

John sighs, giving a tight smile, taking a second to glance at Mary with a sad affection in his eyes, “That’s for you to figure out, Dean. Your life is just startin’. Don’t let a man like me who’s made far too many mistakes cause you to get cold feet. Just remember this, think about things before you go off and do em’. If I did, I’d probably still be with your mother, and not some barista who took pity on me after she found me passed out in an alleyway.”

 

Dean is about to say something else when he sees someone catch his eye.

 

Castiel stands among his family- Anna (Dean tried to hook up with her once freshman year when she was considered the “hot senior”) and Gabriel (the known class clown that was apparently Castiel’s half-brother or something)- with a smile on his face as they take a picture together. Dean watches him as John slinks away to speak to Sammy.

 

Dean remembers that day from freshman year that he first saw those blue eyes and the disheveled mop of raven hair as he picked his ass off of the ground. After that day, Dean’s forgotten how many times those eyes have slipped into his thoughts. Whether or not his head was resting on his pillow or his hand was exploring below the hem of his pants is nobody's business but his own.

 

Castiel happens to look at Dean at that moment, and those really, _really_ fucking blue eyes train on him as Dean’s heart flutters in his chest. He decides to wave again, and winks.

 

Yet, before he or Castiel can make their way over to one another, Mary brings him back over to take pictures of him, and the chance is lost.

 

‘ _Until next time,_ ’ Dean thinks.

 


	3. I Can't Believe You Let Me Down

 

 

 

**-X-**

 

**_\- {Present} -_ **

 

Dean pays for their meals, and Castiel starts to slightly shift on his feet as Dean puts the money forward. He knows that Castiel probably has something important to say or ask, but right now isn’t the best of times to be opening his mouth.

 

As they walk away from the diner, Dean sighs in defeat and decides to speak, “If you have something to say, just say it.”

 

“I want you to take me home.”

 

Well… That’s to the point.

 

“Castiel, I can’t,” Dean tries to argue civilly, but finds that it only frustrates the other man.

 

“Yes you can. Nothing is stopping you-”

 

“A dick named Balthazar is stopping me,” Dean grunts, opening the Impala’s door a little too roughly for his tastes, “I don’t want you going back to him when all he does is hurt you.”

 

Castiel rolls his eyes lightly, “I can take the hits, Dean. He just has a bad temper, is all. Besides, he always makes up for it.”

 

“Don’t go and excuse him for this shit, Cas!” Dean snaps, angry that Castiel would rather fight back with him than with Balthazar, “You can’t just let him walk all over you like that! God, when did you become such a doormat?”

 

Castiel doesn’t get inside of the Impala, and neither does Dean. They glare at each other over the roof of the car, and Dean doesn’t feel like putting himself behind the wheel when all he wants to do is smack some sense into Castiel. Well, maybe not literally… Dude’s been hit enough recently.

 

“I thought that when you walked away from us that you would actually _give a damn_ about yourself. I mean, obviously you did if you were craving something domestic, but I thought it was the American dream life that you wanted, not domestic violence.”

 

Castiel turns his icy stare towards the reflective surface of the Impala, and he apparently doesn’t like what he sees. A few cautious fingers come up to touch the discolored and swollen skin on his cheek, and he exhales an unsteady breath.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me that my face is bruised?” he asks quietly, avoiding the topic of ‘staying with Balthazar’ when he’s too busy focusing on what the man’s fists had done to him.

 

“It wasn’t the biggest concern of mine, honestly,” Dean says offhandedly, “I was more worried about what _caused_ it instead.”

 

Castiel doesn’t say anything; he just slumps his shoulders and sighs in defeat.

 

Out of all the years that Dean has known Castiel Novak, he’s never seen him so beaten and broken down than he is at this moment. Not even when they first left each other. No, Castiel had this fire about him- this _heat_ that no flame could really replicate. It’s one thing Dean loved about Castiel so much. He had this cool demeanor and look about him, all blue-eyed and raven-haired, when honestly, he had red and gold strewn about his personality. For someone who could be technically color schemed to match the ocean, Castiel’s personality certainly took after the sun.

 

Well, not anymore, it seems.

 

Dean guesses that maybe there was a super nova or something else over the years, and whether it be "them" falling apart or Balthazar’s rough treatments, Dean will never know. All that he is aware of is that the light in Castiel is gone- has been replaced with a void; a black hole. Anything that Dean really loved about Castiel, anything he really knew him for, was stripped away and sucked into the gaping void of what once had been. It left Castiel barren and cold, and Dean doesn’t know what to do about it.

 

“I need some makeup.”

 

That knocks Dean out of his trance.

 

“To do what?” he asks in a passive aggressive way, “To hide what happened?”

 

Castiel looks at Dean, but his glare truly doesn’t hold much venom. Dean is guessing that he’s honestly tired of fighting at the moment, and he’s too worried about people staring at the obvious when he’s trying to forget about what even happened to him. Dean feels pity for Castiel for the first time ever, and it shocks him as the emotion settles in his throat to only catch the words he wants- no, _needs-_ to say.

 

“How much money do you have?”

 

Dean pauses for a moment, and then hands Castiel a couple of bills, “Just go inside of there and get what you need. I’ll be waiting right here. Don’t take too long, though. I don’t want any cameras to really catch you on their film, just in case.”

 

“Yeah, I know,” Castiel states impassively, “Don’t want you to get caught, right?”

 

Dean watches as Castiel slowly makes his way into a pitiful gas station, and Dean truly wonders how they ever got to this point.

 

 

**-X-**

 

 

The door opens as Castiel nears it. He’s glad it did, considering how much hell his shoulder is giving him currently.

 

Balthazar really isn’t the kindest of lovers, but he has his good moments too, despite what the other man thinks. Dean tells Castiel that he needs to leave- needs to abandon the one thing that gave him hope after Dean left him- and the suggestion of never having that first sense of security again is, well, unnerving. Just the thought of having to start all over, to try and move on from Balthazar while still trying to move on from Dean, is overwhelming. It makes Castiel want to break down and cry, because it seems, with all that happens, with all that he tries to do, every single relationship he's ever had always ends in blood and tears. Though, in the end, Castiel is always left feeling desperate for what he had once called his.

 

Castiel sighs, the small sound mixing in with the buzz of the lights above and the obnoxious chewing from the gas station cashier. She occasionally pops the gum in her mouth, making Castiel’s already fretted nerves fray even further with each click of her tongue.

 

He pushes through his annoyance and grabs whatever he needs to make the bruises disappear on his skin. He knows that the old wounds on his back are more than likely infected, going by the sting every time he shifts, and so he grabs disinfectant and bandages while the cashier _pops_ away.

 

Castiel feels like poking out his ear drums with his nails as he stares at one of the shelves. He’s tired, sore, annoyed, and he can’t stand the constant buzz of electricity and the occasional pop from the employee. His hand lingers on a box of gauze, his gaze boring intently at the cardboard as he tries to figure out if he should just give up and walk home. After a few minutes, he decides against it. He’s still in his pajamas, after all, and it would be awkward with the police and with Balthazar.

 

Ugh, he's such a coward sometimes.

 

When Castiel nears the register, the employee groans at the fact she now has to do her job instead of popping a piece of damn gum over and over. Castiel tries to keep himself from letting his irritation seep into his appearance. The pain helps.

 

“That it?” she asks tersly, looking at the pile of items and then glancing at Castiel.

 

“Yes,” Castiel throws all of Dean’s money onto the counter without hearing the total, and he keeps his words curt and laconic, “Keep the change.”

 

She looks almost grateful, as though the leftovers will probably buy her a fresh piece of gum or two. She smiles and wishes Castiel a good day, her movements cheerful while Castiel's are pained and tense. Yet, despite the differences in mood, Castiel does wave her off as he exits. Dean is watching him like a hawk, or more specifically, the plastic bag hanging off his arm loosely as he approaches the Impala. When he gets inside, Dean doesn’t ask for the change, like he expected Castiel to just give it all away in spite.

 

“I’m getting us a motel room,” he comments almost impassively, “You’ll be able to fix yourself up there, or get some shut eye if you need it.”

 

“What will you do?” Castiel asks, not looking at Dean, but rather focusing his attention on the light liquid foundation he bought along with some medical supplies.

 

Castiel doesn’t have to face Dean to know he shrugs.

 

“I don't know, really. Though, I’m probably going to have to tell HQ that I’m gonna be off grid for a lil’ bit and whatever… I might call Jo or something, too, depending, I guess.”

 

Castiel can’t help but feel the angry spark in his chest, one that threatens to set something aflame in frustration as the word slips out past his lips, cloaked in a facade of a deadpan.

 

“Who?”

 

“Jo. She's my partner,” Dean says easily.

 

“You two sound like you're very close.”

 

Castiel's irritation goes unnoticed.

 

“We have to be, in some sense. It's stupid not to have each other’s backs when we could get shot or killed while working together.”

 

Castiel gives a small huff a breath, a solemn one, and he keeps staring at the bag that contains the only thing he has to his name at the moment, “Sounds like a dream job.”

 

There’s a sigh from the driver’s seat, “Cas-”

 

“Drive, Dean.”

 

He doesn’t argue with Castiel, and silently puts the Impala in gear.

 

 

**-X-**

 

**- _{May 28th, 1998}_ \- **

 

 

“So what are you gonna do now, Dean?” Sammy asks, leaning on his crossed arms, his body spread out on the couch.

 

“College, I guess,” Dean finishes getting the last of his stuff packed into the cardboard box, “I don’t really have plans, actually.”

 

Dean doesn’t admit that he wasn’t smart enough to get to make any, or at least, to even get any scholarships that would have caused him to make plans.

 

Sammy flips over, staring at the ceiling, “Man, that sucks. At least you got your own place n’ stuff.”

 

“Yeah,” Dean chuckles, “small miracles…”

 

Dean packs the last thing into the Impala- the only thing that Mary ever kept after John left, only because Dean loved it so much and would eventually turn sixteen- and shuts the trunk. Mary is at work at the moment, and Sammy is about to head out to his debate club in a few minutes or so when his friend’s mom drives up. After that, Dean can drive to his new place.

 

As he says goodbye to Sammy and gets in the driver’s seat of his baby, he thinks about where he’s supposed to go now. He’s got a car with a full tank of gas, some graduation money, and all of his stuff crammed in the back. Surely a small road trip that'll last a week or two won’t hurt. He can see new places, he can find something there where the road takes him that makes him wanna stay. He doesn’t know really, because his whole future is honestly up in the air at this point.

 

Dean drums his thumbs on the steering wheel to his favorite cassette from Led Zeppelin, making his way to the small, rundown apartment that has his last name on its lease. If Mary knew that he took an apartment like this, she’d tell him to come back to live with her in an instant. If Dean refused and proceeded to go to bed at "his" place instead, he would wake up in his old room with his stuff around him as Mary glared from the doorway. It’s obvious that his new place will be hush-hush for right now, at least until Dean gets a good job and better housing becomes available.

 

Dean can’t help but feel a little more hopeless as he sees the graffiti on the walls of the apartment complex. That surely wasn’t there when he came to see if the available place wasn’t literally a hole in the wall with a shower curtain as a door yesterday.

 

“You new here?” Dean hears, and he looks over to see some guy with a baseball cap and a beard approach him.

 

“Uh, yeah,” Dean admits, not knowing whether or not to talk to this dude or not, “Who wants to know?”

 

He smirks, “I do. Name’s Bobby.”

 

Dean takes his hand as he offers it, shaking it lightly, “I’m Dean. You live here?”

 

“Unfortunately,” he sighs, “It’s all I can afford at the moment with a paycheck from a garage. What ‘bout you? Why’d you choose to live in the slums of Lawrence?”

 

“I just graduated and I don’t have too much money to be throwing down every month. I’m trying to start out, is all.”

 

Bobby grins, “I remember my graduation a lil’ bit. It was a while back. Twenty years- maybe twenty-one. Don’t really miss any of it.”

 

Dean shrugs, “I’m indifferent, I guess. I didn't care about leaving, but... there were a few special people I didn't want to leave behind. I guess that's just life, though...”

 

The conversation dies a little bit until Bobby sees Dean’s car.

 

“She yours?”

 

“Yeah,” Dean grins proudly, because he loves it when people notice his pride and joy, “I’m lucky enough to say it.”

 

“Must be a 1960’s version. Nice.”

 

“Yeah, I prefer it to the 40’s one. It’s curvier and looks like a muscle car more than a landboat.”

 

Bobby smiles, “So, you need help movin’ in?”

 

Dean shrugs, “Yeah, sure. Guess some extra hands wouldn’t hurt anything.”

 

And that’s how Dean officially met Bobby Singer. They became good friends pretty quickly, finding that they are both people who don’t fit the complex’s stereotypical drug or alcohol addiction coupled with an itch for crime and thievery. He seems to feel bad that Dean can't quite stand up on his own feet just yet, and he's always offering Dean money or something. He refuses each time, stating that he'd rather earn cash instead of mooch, and apparently, this makes a light go off in Bobby's head. Instead of throwing dollar bills in Dean's face, Bobby lets Dean come with him to the garage and help out a little bit.

 

“You’re a natural, boy,” Bobby puts a hand on Dean’s shoulder as he works on an engine.

 

“It’s because of the Impala. I had to learn how to fix her myself since my dad wasn’t really around. Taught myself from a book that my mom bought me as a kid.”

 

Bobby quirks an eyebrow, and Dean knows that he does this when he has an idea, “So you’re a fast learner then?”

 

Dean wipes the black grease from under his nails with a rag, “Yeah, suppose I am. Why?”

 

“I wanna take to you a firing range, kid. I wanna see how you are with guns.”

 

“Why’s that?”

 

Bobby smiles, though there is a hidden edge to it, “‘Cause I might just have another job for you.”

 

Little did Dean know that meant Bobby was going to introduce him to what seemed like the life of James Bond. Turns out that Bobby was working an undercover job for some discreet agency, and that he was in the apartment complex portraying himself as some mechanic to give the facade of a pedestrian as he tried to locate some high-up local drug dealer.

 

“So you do this all the time?”

 

“Not _all_ the time, but a lot…” Bobby answers, fixing himself a beer as Dean eats the burger he got in a drive-thru, “It’s not what you think it is, Dean. It's not the perfect life, either.”

 

Dean scoffs in disbelief, “It must be so _awesome,_ though! Shootin’ bad guys and lookin’ like a badass while you do it… What’s wrong with all of that?”

 

Bobby sits down, setting his beer on the uneven coffee table made level by a phone book, “Dean, the life of an agent… It’s not… it’s not a _kind_ one. I’ve lost a lot in my life ‘cause of it, Dean.”

 

“Like what?”

 

“My wife Karen,” Bobby pops the cap off of his beer while staring at the stained walls of his place without interest, “Loved that woman like nothin’ else. Still do, despite what went down.”

 

Dean pauses from eating, setting the greasy piece of meat in the wrapper as he looks towards Bobby carefully, his tone cautious, “What happened to her?”

 

“She died,” Bobby's words are bitter- almost hateful- and they're directed at himself, "She got murdered because I was a dumbass. I left the house without thinking that someone couldn't figure out who I was in real life. I told her that I was going out to the shop, when in all reality, I was trying to finish an assignment. They killed her just to spite me, Dean. I lost the woman of my life because I thought I knew what I was doing, and now, this stupid job is all I have left."

 

Dean looks towards the floor, feeling guilt rise up within him, “Oh, sorry I didn’t… _Shit,_ Bobby… You didn’t have to tell me-”

 

“S’okay, I needed to,” Bobby takes a swig of his beer and rests against his lumpy futon, “You didn’t know or anythin’... Besides, I want you to know what you’re gonna get yourself into with this stuff.”

 

“Why offer it at all, then?”

 

Bobby smirks, “Now there’s the million dollar question. Why? Well, ‘cause even if I don’t want you doin’ it, you’d be pretty damn good at it kid. But mostly-” Bobby looks over to Dean, “it’s gonna get you out of places like this. If there’s someone I don’t wanna see livin’ here or livin' in this enviornment, it’s gotta be you, son. You’re practically a damn kid, for cryin’ out loud.”

 

“Yeah, suppose that livin’ here when you’re tryin’ to start out isn’t the best of situations…”

 

“Just do right by yourself, Dean," Bobby says seriously, “Don’t end up like me.”

 

Dean eyes Bobby with a strange interest, “What’s that, exactly?”

 

Bobby downs the rest of his beer, wiping the foam off of his lips with the sleeve of his flannel jacket, and he looks at Dean sincerely.

 

“A man who’s got nothin’ more than his job to keep him goin’.”

 

 

**-X-**

 

**- _{Present}_ \- **

 

 

Castiel holds the plastic bag tightly to his chest as Dean arrives at the sleazy motel he picked. He’s inside paying at the moment, and Castiel feels like yelling and screaming or just sitting in the silence that he’s left in.

 

Castiel left this shit for a reason- he left _Dean_ for a reason- and he’s not in the mood to be thrown back in. Imagine it like being change in someone’s pocket while their pants are getting washed. Tumbled, thrown around, caught in a torrent. No one notices you’re there until they empty the thing and find you huddled on the bottom, still for the first time in what feels like forever. But the worst part is that they just pick you back up, put you inside of their pocket once more, and the whole entire cycle begins anew.

 

Well, Castiel isn’t a nickel, nor is he a dime or any other type of change, which means he doesn’t belong or want to be in Dean’s pocket. He’s grown tired of getting dragged around, forgotten about, or being washed up. He’s done with it.

 

“The room’s ready.”

 

Castiel barely stops from jumping in his seat, and he exhales roughly as he grits out, “You could have at least knocked, you ass.”

 

“I did,” Dean states idly, “You didn’t hear me. Now, go ahead and do what you need to, okay? The faster you take care of yourself, the better.”

  

“Wow, Dean. It sounds like you actually care!” Castiel says in a mock tone, his fake smile falling as soon as the sentence is finished so he can glare at Dean.

 

“That’s because I do, you ass.”

 

The sincerity of the words quiet Castiel, and he closes his eyes for a moment to calm himself down. Dean doesn’t say anything else, just shuts the door to the Impala and walks away. Castiel opens his eyes to see him open the motel door, only to leave it ajar so he can enter.

 

God, he kind of does feel like an ass.

 

No. He has the right to be angry with Dean. He has the right to make witty, snappy, and sometimes cruel remarks because it’s eye for an eye at the moment. He’s evening out the playing field because of what Dean did to him, of what he said all that time ago. Castiel’s got a grudge, and he’s going to make it apparent that he’s not going down without fight on this one.

 

No… not again.

 

Castiel holds the bag close, cautiously exiting the Impala and shutting its door. He sighs, preparing himself for nothing more than walking into a damn motel room.

 

“ _You’re cute when you’re flustered._ ”

 

Castiel shakes Dean’s voice from his head, trying to ignore it and the memory that it’s from.

 

“ _Cas._ ”

 

Deny the feelings, deny the memories, deny the past, deny _Dean-_

 

“ _Cas._ ”

 

No, he won’t let his own mind turn on him too-

 

“Cas.”

 

Castiel’s eyes dart up to see Dean standing in the doorway, his eyebrows furrowed in concern.

 

“Castiel, are you alright?” the look on his face is enough to make Castiel’s toes curl ever so minutely.

 

“Uh, yeah, just…” he coughs, making his reply awkward at best, and he takes a breath to calm himself down, “I don’t like motels much… They’re… disgusting.”

 

Dean suspiciously eyes Castiel, and the scrutiny of his gaze causes the other man to shift on his feet a couple of inches here and there, only to let up last second, “Yeah, they aren’t the best. Come on, though. You aren’t going to get any better with standin’ outside in a parking lot all day.”

 

Castiel doesn’t say anything, he just grips the plastic handles tightly and begins to sheepishly step forward. His shoulder aches, and his other wounds demand his attention- he feels miserable. As he struggles, Dean watches him slowly make his way to the door, wincing and hissing occasionally as he goes along. All of it makes Castiel feel trapped- causes him to want to rip his hair out or to punch the nearest wall until his knuckles are bloody and bruised.

 

However, Castiel just makes his way into the motel room quietly, the whole time having Dean Winchester stare at him like he’s some type of puzzle that just can't be solved.

 

“You can stop staring, Dean,” he states weakly, going to the small bathroom to begin covering the large bruise painting his cheek, “I've been told that it’s impolite.”

 

“I wasn’t _staring,_ ” Dean argues lightly, turning the TV on with a huff.

 

Castiel just rolls his eyes, happy with the fact there’s a wall separating him and Dean right now. He grips the ceramic basin of the sink tightly, trying to gain some oxygen with his ragged breaths, his mind racing as to what he’s supposed to do now.

 

He’ll tend to his wounds first. Like Dean said, the quicker he fixes himself, the better.

 

Castiel takes off his generic gray tee to expose his battered skin for examination, and he can’t help but let his eyes flutter closed at the array of wounds- old and new. He carefully takes a hand and places it on his neck, feeling the throb from his pulse as his body aches with numerous painful areas.

 

Carefully, Castiel grabs the hydrogen peroxide and uncaps it. His fingers shake as his shoulder comes into view.

 

The mirror offers a sight with no filter- with no way that Castiel can deny what he sees. He can look at every indent of Balthazar’s nails with crusty scabs, and he can ogle at the skin around it to find that it’s a dark purple and yellow splotch. As Castiel lifts a hesitant finger to the marks, he knows there’s only one way to confirm if the swollen redness around his arm is just irritation or infection. The skin is white hot against the heel of Castiel’s palm, and he bites his bottom lip as he moves some of the skin.

 

Yellow. He sees yellow liquid.

 

Thankfully, the TV is loud enough for him to whisper to himself.

 

“Dammit.”

 

His arm is infected- it’s got gross stuff collecting inside of it as he sits there reeling about the discovery. There’s only one thing he can really do for it at the moment, though, and Castiel has to brace himself for what's to come.

 

He grabs a small washcloth and puts it in between his lips- despite his mind telling him otherwise for it being a _motel_ washcloth- and he grabs the peroxide. Teeth grit together, separated by fabric, as Castiel quickly splashes the peroxide onto the wound.

 

Castiel groans from pain into the rag, the sound loud even with the cloth blocking its way. Despite Castiel’s best efforts, the TV shuts off, and he can tell that Dean is approaching the bathroom.

 

“Fuck…” Castiel hisses to himself, quickly trying to remove the bubbles from his arm so he can shove his shirt back on.

 

“Cas?”

 

Castiel sighs in defeat as he hears the footfalls stop in the doorway of the bathroom and a small gasp escape from the man behind him. Dean doesn’t need to be facing him for Castiel to know that he is shocked at the state of his body.

 

“Hello, Dean,” he says quietly, and Castiel shuts his eyes in shame.

 

 

**-X-**

 

**- _{May 23rd, 2008}_ \- **

 

Dean rests against the hood of the Impala, smoking a cigarette. It’s a bad habit he picked up from Rufus, Bobby’s partner, a couple of years back, but it helps him deal with stress and he thinks it makes him look cooler, so he's okay with it. Bobby was mad at him for picking up the habit, but all he could really do was shake his head and call Dean an "idjit". Speaking of Bobby, he’s retired from the job since then, and got himself a nice little apartment in Sioux Falls. He’s happy there, from what he told Dean on the phone, and he planned on buying a scrap yard there so he can work on cars like he’s always wanted.

 

Dean wishes him luck as he thinks of him, and takes a drag on his cigarette. He exhales, letting his shoulders slump and his eyes wander around him.

 

The lake he's stopped at is a serine sight. Pine trees border the small body of water, their needles moving in the light breeze as it carries Dean’s cloud of smoke away in wisps like specks of dust. The small waves lap at the rocks with a gentle motion, the crests of them illuminated by the moon as it hangs brightly among the stars. Dean stares at them sometimes, wondering about philosophical questions as he breathes and waits.

 

He doesn’t have an assignment right now, and won’t for the next few days. The reason for that being Rufus caught wind of Dean’s high school reunion coming up. He was always one for sentimentality, so he told people to hold out on jobs because Dean “should see people he’s been missing for ten years” or some bullshit like that.

 

Honestly, Dean doesn’t care- never has, really. There’s not anyone he wants to see, either. Well, there could be a few, if he could remember them, but still. There wasn't anyone who he’s absolutely planning on seeing again. There’s no one there who can make him feel like the reunion is worth it, raven hair and blue eyes be damned.

 

Suddenly, Dean sits up, exhaling the smoke over his lips as he stares out at the moonlit lake before him in awe. He almost forgot, surprisingly, and the funny part is that he's been thinking of that face for quite some time now. Well, if he were to go to the reunion, it would really only be to go see-

 

“Castiel.”

 

The name slips off of Dean's tongue like the cigarette does out of his fingers.

 

 

**-X-**

 

**- _{Present}_ \- **

 

 

 

Dean stares in utter horror at the sight before him.

 

Castiel’s back is bruised and scabbed over, the skin swollen from the abuse it has received. It looks all mangled and infected with the coloring and the inflammation, causing it to look pissed off. Dean silently curses at Balthazar in his head, too concerned over the look of Castiel’s flesh to mouth all of the hatred he feels for this one man alone.

 

“God, Cas!” Dean rushes forward, but the other man makes no movement whatsoever as he begins to look all over Castiel's back in a slight panic, “You should have said something!”

 

“Didn’t matter…” Castiel argues quietly.

 

Dean glares at his spine for saying that, and his fingers ghost over the puffed and infected wounds with caution, “Of course it fucking matters! Jesus! This shit can _kill_ you if you’re not careful!”

 

Castiel shrugs, the action causing his skin to look even worse in motion as he groans again from pain, “I know…”

 

“So you don’t say anything!? You just let this shit fester!?”

 

Castiel turns to face Dean then, his eyes cold and partially distant, “I can handle it, Dean-”

 

“Obviously not when it’s this bad, Cas!” Dean yells, “It’s obvious that some of this shit is days- almost _weeks_ old! You’re going to try and tell me with a straight face that you’ve been taking care of yourself when I can tell how long this has been going on! Dammit, Cas- you can have blood poisoning from this shit!”

 

“Dean, stop-”

 

“You’re joking right? You’re practically beaten to a pulp and you’re expectin’ me to just not care? What the _fuck,_ Cas?”

 

Castiel deflates, “I don’t… I don’t want to talk about it.”

 

Dean scoffs, “Of course you don’t…”

 

However, Dean decides not to push it. Instead, he guides Castiel to one of the beds and sighs. He doesn’t say anything as he gathers up the materials needed to disinfect Castiel’s back in a rush. He's so concerned right now, and he begins hoping that Castiel’s injuries won’t seriously harm him before he tries to fix all that is damaged. That'd suck- being so close to stopping something, only to watch as you miss by several seconds or centimeters, and whatever you had been trying to preserve falls apart right before you as though you didn't even try.

 

The thought causes Dean to act faster while Castiel waits on him. 

 

When Dean comes out from the bathroom with the plastic bag, he notices that Castiel is lying on the bed with his legs crossed and his back barren of anything. Dean can’t help but wince at the sight of the inflamed cuts- at the darkening bruises- at the scars that haven’t had the time to fade away yet. Castiel doesn’t flinch back from Dean’s fingertips as they begin to trace over the damaged flesh with care.

 

Castiel sucks in a breath, trembling from the attention his wounds are getting. It reminds Dean of whenever he would touch Castiel during the night to ease him into sleep- of how he'd run his finger down the curve of Castiel's side to trace sweet nothings along the other's spine and shoulders. It makes Dean remember when this back was smooth, an expanse of flesh that he was blessed with seeing every day. Now, it’s barely recognizable with how many wounds litter it.

 

It breaks him on the inside, and he has to hold back a sob as tears well up in his eyes, especially so for how this must feel for Castiel.

 

"I'm not hurting you, am I?"

 

The other man breathes lightly, the expanding of his lungs causing him pain as it strains his injured skin. He shakes his head.

 

At least there are still things such as small favors- small graces to the unfortunate.

 

“How long has it been like this, Cas?” Dean asks quietly, and there's an angry edge growing in his voice as he sees some of the wounds leak pus.

 

“I don’t know.”

 

Dean isn’t sure if Castiel is telling the truth or not, but he doesn’t try to get anymore out of him. He takes the peroxide in hand, popping the cap as he places a clean towel onto Castiel’s back.

 

“Lay down,” Dean instructs softly, “I’m going to put peroxide on this so it doesn't get everywhere except for where you need it.”

 

Castiel does as he’s told, but before Dean pours the hydrogen peroxide onto the fabric laying on top of the other man’s marred back, he speaks.

 

“Dean?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Is this going to hurt? …” the way he asks the question breaks Dean even more- as though someone took a chip in his heart and lengthened it into a crack.

 

It sounds like Castiel is afraid of what’s about to happen, that he isn’t ready for Dean to fix all that Balthazar has broken and damaged. He’s gripping onto the bedding slightly- loose but not relaxed- and Dean can feel the anxiety and fear rolling off of him in large waves. 

 

He remembers when Castiel wasn’t afraid of pain… But then again, he didn’t receive it on a daily basis by someone who says that they love him.

 

“Probably…” Dean finally answers, and his voice wavers on the end of the syllable as he bites back his hesitancy.

 

Castiel needs to have his wounds tended to, whether or not Dean likes the apparent look of absolute, paralyzing fear that Castiel has gained over his absence and with Balthazar's presence.

 

However, now is not the time to reminisce.

 

Dean quickly douses the towel with the peroxide, effectively soaking it with the liquid as Castiel screams wildly. It’s muffled by the bedspread, but Dean can hear it clearly enough. The sound breaks off into broken sobs, the oxygen that Castiel is inhaling roughly hitches in his throat as his hands turn white as he grips onto the sheets.

 

“Cas? …” 

 

Dean can see the numerous tears fall as Castiel moves, causing him to only cry out more as his injuries are stretched. Bubbles outline all of the wounds on the towel, and Castiel begins hitting at the mattress with force as he cries in agony, as though hitting something will transfer his pain away.

 

Dean leaves Castiel on the bed then, unsure with how to proceed with things as he enters the bathroom. He can hear Castiel wailing into the comforter, and it goes straight to  Dean’s heart as his pleas worsen by the second. Dean, spurred on by the sounds, rushes to find whatever he didn’t grab from what Castiel bought at the gas station, and he curses as he realizes he doesn’t have enough for all that needs fixing.

 

He's about to head out and tell Castiel that he has to run to the nearest store when he finds him passed out on the bed. Tears still stream down his face, and his breathing is ragged from his screaming. 

 

Dean realizes then that he must have blacked out from the pain, and he carefully lifts the peroxide-soaked towel off of his back. Blood comes off onto the white cloth, and Dean can’t help but bite his lip as he sees all of the angry cuts and welts bubble venomously at Dean for trying to get them to actually heal.

 

“God, Cas…” Dean exhales roughly, “God- I’m so _sorry…_ ”

 


	4. But the Proof's in the Way It Hurts

 

 

 

**- _{May 24th, 2008}_ \- **

 

Castiel sees the flyer lying on his desk, and he takes a moment to stare at it as he lingers in the doorway. His keys are in his hands, yet he makes no move to use them as the paper catches his attention and holds onto it.

 

His ten year high school reunion is tomorrow.

 

Castiel bites his lower lip, wondering if he even has time to go back Lawrence at this point, and if it’s even worth all of the effort to get there. He’d been glad to leave high school- he’s been glad living his life and being out on his own in life in the cement veins of Seattle. Going back would just… stall him.

 

Castiel sighs, looking down towards his shoes in slight defeat.

 

He turns around and pulls his suitcase from the closet. Hastily, he throws in a suit and some regular clothing, the whole time looking for the quickest and closest flight to get him to Lawrence while he is still able to.

 

As Castiel purchases a ticket, he wonders how many old faces he’ll see again.

 

 

**-X-**

 

**- _{Present}_ \- **

 

 

Dean drives to the nearest Wal-Mart he can find. He’s got a game plan at the moment, and he’s ready to get all of the stuff Castiel needs before he wakes up and does something stupid.

 

He rushes inside, grabbing as much disinfectant, medicine, and bandages as he can find, and all but sprints to the clothing section. He buys generic shirts and sweats for Castiel, remembering that he’s a medium as he shoves the items into the buggy. One quick stop near the beer section and he’s ready to go.

 

After going through the self-checkout and unloading the items into the Impala, Dean practically speeds to the motel in his haste. He's grabbing the bags and shutting the trunk when it happens.

 

The motel door bursts open, and Castiel stares at Dean with reddened eyes.

 

“Dean…” he takes a deep breath, still shirtless and strained from the peroxide incident earlier.

 

“Sorry, I just uh,” Dean gestures towards the plastic bags, “I made a supply run. You had passed out, so…”

 

“I thought you ran off on me again,” Castiel says seriously, and Dean can hear the hurt in his voice.

 

The sentence causes a lump to form in Dean’s throat, and he exhales roughly, “Yeah, well… I didn’t this time.”

 

Castiel says nothing, but with the slight twinge in his face, Dean knows that it hit somewhere close to home for him.

 

Dean walks up to the door, holding out two bags, “I bought you some clothes. They’re just sweats and generic stuff that comes in packs, but… I thought you would enjoy having more than one shirt, a bathrobe, and a pair of pajama pants to wear.”

 

“Thank you, Dean…”

 

As Castiel reaches for the handles of the bags, their hands brush for the first time in years. Dean’s heart jumps in his chest, and his skin lights up as though a live wire was placed against it rather than Castiel’s palm. Castiel makes a small noise, as though the touch also caused him to feel surprised with the sensation that the simple contact causes.

 

However, the strange feeling dissipates as Castiel grabs the bags quickly, and withdraws his arm to rest at his side limply. His eyes don’t meet Dean’s as the other looks at his face, as though he’s too ashamed to admit that even just a simple touch is able to derail the negative things between them- as if it makes the past fade away into the land of unimportance.

 

“You’re welcome, Castiel,” Dean says lightly, his voice quiet and small.

 

They head inside after that, and Dean shuts the door as Castiel places his new sets of clothing onto his bed. As Dean looks up to him, he can see all of the cuts bleeding and puffed up from the peroxide bath they had endured. Yet, Castiel seems to ignore them as he tries to put one of his new shirts on over them. He isn't able to lift his arms enough to get it over his head.

 

Dean walks up with the bags filled with the medicated soaps he had bought and sighs, “Cas, you know we’re not done with your back, right?”

 

Castiel stalls, placing the shirt back onto the mattress, “I suppose we aren’t… What Hell do I have to go through next?”

 

“A bath,” Dean states easily, “It won’t be as painful as the peroxide by far, but… it’s not going to be pleasant either.”

 

“I figured as much.”

 

Castiel sighs, turning around without looking at Dean. He enters the bathroom, and Dean follows suit quietly. The two don’t say anything as Castiel starts up the warm water, and he sits on the edge of the tub as Dean readies the soaps and bandages for use. Castiel remains silent as Dean begins adding things into the water, and Dean is sure that if he opened his mouth to try and speak, all of his words would just be ignored at the moment.

 

Dean turns off the water after another minute or two, the water ending up filling half of the tub as Castiel stands up off of its edge. He strips away his pajama pants, leaving him in nothing but his boxers as he stands in front of Dean. The other man eats up the exposed skin hungrily, because it’s been so long that he’s seen this part of Cas and he can’t help but stare at what was lost.

 

Castiel doesn’t say anything about it, or he didn’t notice Dean’s staring, but either way he gets inside of the tub with his boxers still adorning his skin. Dean can respect it, considering Castiel is still angry with him, and whether or not he likes it, Castiel does have a fiancé waiting back home. An abusive one, but still a fiancé.

 

Dean wonders how that even happened.

 

“I’m going to wash your back.”

 

It’s a warning for Castiel, so he knows that pain is on its way and he can prepare himself for it as much as he can.

 

“W-Washcloth,” Castiel stutters, the nervous edge reappearing in his voice, “Please…”

 

Dean hands the small piece of cloth over to Castiel, watching curiously as he shoves it into his mouth and bites down. He nods, signaling to Dean that he’s ready.

 

As soon as Dean touches the skin, Castiel groans into the fabric, his hands gripping onto his knees tightly as Dean wipes at the damaged skin. It only worsens as Dean squirts medicated soap to his hand, the addition causing Castiel to yell as the washcloth muffles his noises. Fresh tears begin to stream down Castiel’s face, causing Dean to try and make his movements softer and gentler for the sake of not causing Castiel to pass out again.

 

It remains that way for several minutes. Castiel cries as Dean fixes his wounds; Dean scrubs and lathers. No words are said by them. It’s only muffled, broken sobs and held breaths that are exchanged between the two. Honestly, Dean doesn’t think he can really say anything other than “sorry” over and over, like some broken record that Cas doesn’t want to listen to.

 

A few moments later, the tub is draining and Cas is still crying quietly. It’s not as intense as it was with the peroxide, but it’s obvious that this doesn’t feel too good either. He's still out of it, as Dean notices, and he doesn't fight back when Dean helps him get out of the tub to dry off. He doesn't even say anything as Dean guides him to the mattress, his vision blurred by tears as Dean sets him down on the comforter.

 

It’s a heartbreaking sight to see as Dean begins to put antibiotic on the cuts gingerly, having to be careful as Castiel’s body sometimes stiffens from pain or jumps from a sob. Dean’s gentle as he wraps Castiel’s back in gauze, having to loop it around Castiel’s chest as he hiccups.

 

This is all his fault. If he stayed with Cas, if he didn’t leave to keep his job, then maybe they wouldn’t be in some nasty motel filled with screams and bloody gauze. Maybe they would be somewhere on the beach like they had wanted once, falling asleep to the sound of cresting waves and the noise of hungry seagulls. Maybe Dean would wake up in the morning with Cas by his side instead of empty, cold space in his bed.

 

Maybe… just maybe…

 

“I’m sorry,” Dean blurts, and a tremor arises in his voice that shows how close he is to shedding tears himself, “This is all my fault…”

 

Cas turns around to face Dean, his expression angered as hot tears work their way down the slopes of his cheekbones to dribble off of his chin, “Don’t blame yourself for this, Dean.”

 

“How can I not?” he says seriously, his head hanging down in shame.

 

“Because you’re not the one who did this, alright?”

 

Dean just shakes his head, finding no words to describe how bad he feels for letting Cas down in so many ways.

 

Castiel notices this, and he begins to turn towards Dean, but as he does, the bandages pull on his wounds and cause him to cry out in pain. Dean rushes to hold onto him as his body shakes and his breath tumbles over his chapped lips. It's nerve wracking, becayse Dean can see the bandages on his back redden, and he feels even worse for causing Cas to hurt himself.

 

“God, I’m such an _asshole,_ ” Dean grabs onto Cas and sets him against his chest.

 

The other man's cries are loud now that nothing is muffling him, and he grips onto Dean roughly as he tries to stop hurting. In an effort to make him more comfortable, Dean guides them onto the mattress, laying himself down and settling Cas on top of his chest. Tears soak into his shirt as Cas cries, gripping onto Dean the whole time tightly.

 

He rubs Cas’ arms in an attempt to console him in some way- to ease his muscles and to take his mind off of the wounds on his back. Eventually, Dean puts his chin down onto the top of Castiel’s head as the other man cries, and he finds himself breathing in the scent of mint as he inhales softly.

 

Dean doesn’t know how it ever got this bad- how Cas could let himself get hurt this horribly and why he didn't do a single thing about it. It leaves him with more questions than answers.

 

A voice, however, brings him back into the present.

 

“T-Thank you, Dean…” Cas manages, one of his hands grabbing onto his shirt.

 

Some time passes before Dean answers.

 

“You don’t have to thank me, Cas,” he says softly, and he begins running several fingers gingerly through raven hair just like he used to.

 

They don’t say anything else, and soon enough, Cas’ hiccups grew quieter and quieter. His chest rose and fell gently against Dean’s, seemingly slower than before. That mop of black hair was resting on the other man’s chest like it used to when they were together.

 

The thought makes Dean’s heart stutter for a moment, especially as Cas moves in his sleep and his face comes into Dean’s vision.

 

His lips are slightly parted as he breathes, his features slack as Dean brushes away a few tears that remain on his skin. He's beautiful and perfect, and Dean deserves none of him. That doesn't stop him from wanting, though.

 

“I miss us…”

 

His fingertip ghosts over Cas’ cheekbone, and he presses back against Dean’s touch almost naturally. Dean’s breath gets caught in his throat at that. The hand that Cas had been using to grip onto him earlier is now loose on Dean’s shirt as he sleeps, and Dean takes the opportunity to hold it within his own.

 

“Guess it’s just like old times, Cas…” Dean murmurs, stroking a thumb over Cas’ palm, “You asleep on my chest, me talkin’ to myself about it… Well, I miss that too.”

 

As Dean falls asleep, he swears he heard a tiny voice say: “I know…”

 

However, he thinks it’s just his sleep-deprived imagination.

 

 

**-X-**

 

**- _{May 24th, 2008}_ \- **

 

Castiel barely has time to get his suit on by the time the plane lands, the time squeeze forcing him to change in the backseat of a taxi as he’s driven to his old high school. The driver gives him an odd look from the rear view mirror, but Castiel just tips him extra which seems to mollify him well enough not to judge.

 

Castiel can see that the reunion had already started by the time he runs up to the door, his breath rushing over his lips as he corrects his suit and shows the man his invitation. As he steps inside his old school for the first time in ten years, he notices that the gym has light and music pouring out of it. People from his graduating class huddle together in groups as they chat over lost time, and Castiel wonders if there are any people here at the moment who are wondering if he’ll show.

 

Of course, that’s when someone familiar appears, “Cassie!”

 

“Gabriel?”

 

“I thought you weren’t going to show up!” Gabriel runs over to give Castiel a tight hug, and his long, slicked back hair shines from the stage lights, “God, you must have done everything last minute!”

 

Castiel shrugs nonchalantly, “Well that’s because I honestly didn’t plan on attending. Besides, I thought that you got banned from attending any reunions your senior year.”

 

“Eh, things change, dude. Anyways... What made you change your mind last minute?”

 

As Castiel readies himself to answer, he gets this prickling on the back of his neck, and he looks from Gabriel to stare into the crowd. Bodies dance to old, nostalgic songs as Castiel's eyes gaze over numerous people talking and shuffling among one another. However, all of them seem to be foreign faces, causing Castiel to feel confused. When it gets to the point where he's almost ready to give up on finding the source of his goosebumps and odd feelings, his gaze ends up landing on a familiar pair of jade irises. Castiel takes a moment to stare into them. A few minutes pass, and Castiel's curiosity get the better of him, forcing his eyes to take in the rest of this person's features. As Castiel does so, he realizes that Dean Winchester, smiling that same smirk of his even after all these years, is staring at him from across their old gym floor.

 

“I…” Castiel lingers off on speaking for a moment, and he feels flustered at the fact he completely forgot about his half-brother for a moment, “I wanted to see some old faces.”

 

Gabriel snorts, “Going by that look on _your_ face, I think I can say you already found one. Now go, bro. Lord knows that you always wanted to talk to that boy after you fell on your ass over him, literally.”

 

Castiel doesn’t reply to that comment, finding that he's too fixated on the man walking through the crowd to him as the seconds pass.

 

Dean’s face is colored by the multitude of lights, tinting his skin with red and orange splotches as he slinks forward towards Castiel. Dean’s eyes don’t leave him for a single second, and Castiel’s can’t leave Dean’s. It seems like years before the two are actually within reasonable distance of each other.

 

“Long time no see, Cas.”

 

Castiel finally drops his gaze to let it rest on the floorboards beneath his shoes, and he smiles despite his nervousness, “Hello, Dean.”

 

“You know, a lot of people thought that you weren’t gonna show. Including me, actually.”

 

Castiel looks upwards to see Dean watching him curiously, and he shrugs as his smile grows, “Gabriel told me as much when I got here. Honestly, coming here, it was a… _last second,_ kind of thing.”

 

“Well I’m glad to see that you obviously changed your mind,” people begin to swarm around them as the music increased in volume, causing Dean to lean in and speak into Castiel’s ear, “Hey, do you wanna find some place a lil’ less crowded?”

 

Castiel blushes at the fact Dean’s breath is passing over the shell of his ear, and he nods.

 

Dean pulls back with a bright smirk stretching his lips, and he grabs onto Castiel’s forearm to guide him away. The whole time Castiel stares at Dean’s fingers wrapped around his arm, and his breath catches in his throat as Dean leads them out into the hallway. A few other people are outside the gym; mostly just groups of girls fixing each other’s makeup and guys checking them out as they do so.

 

“So, Cas,” Dean begins, ignoring the other people around them completely, and his hands now in his pockets and not on Castiel’s form as they slowly walk down the long stretch of the hallway, “why did you wait till last second to come here?”

 

Castiel fiddles with his finger slightly, playing with his navy tie until it’s absolutely straight before he answers, “I, uh… I guess I didn’t plan on showing up. My new job keeps me busy, and I thought that coming down here was out of the question. However, my boss decided to give me a couple of days off for hard work, and I guess that staring at my invitation helped me decide what to do with my free time.”

 

“Where do you work?”

 

Castiel thinks for a moment, “A computer firm in Seattle.”

 

“Wow, Cas in the big city livin’ it up with technology. You seem to be doin’ well… What exactly do you do there?”

 

Castiel smirks, “I guess you could say I handle a lot of personal information, sometimes.”

 

Dean nods, grinning towards the floor, “Do you get to spy on people or somethin’? Learn their dirty secrets for fun?”

 

“Not exactly,” Castiel looks down the end of the hallway now, the music from the gym muffled by distance, “If I learn something that could be considered as a skeleton in someone’s closet, I have to report them to my boss if they’re serious enough.”

 

“Such as?”

 

Castiel mimics Dean and puts his hands in his suit pockets, “Illegal things, mostly. If I’m going through someone’s hard drive and I find something such as plots for murder or anything incriminating, I’m forced to tell my boss just in case allegations are made against us for placing false files onto the computer.”

 

Dean makes an ‘oh’ noise and nods his head, “Just in case, so people don’t try to blame you guys for their own faults.”

 

Dean notices Castiel's unwillingness to discuss that part of his job, and thankfully he doesn't question it.

 

“Sure…” Castiel doesn’t look at Dean, “I suppose it’s like that in some way, though that’s not completely why I have to… Mostly, I'm just a technician.”

 

The other man nods, “You said that your boss let you have a few days off… What earned you this lil’ unexpected vacation?”

 

Castiel fights back memories of things, and clears his throat, “I suppose I got promoted. I’m doing more… face to face jobs now. It’s not what I’m used to.”

 

Our of the corner of his eye, Castiel sees Dean tilt his head, “How so?”

 

“I’m used to being… _disconnected,_ from people,” Castiel begins honestly, “There’s always a screen in between me and others, and even then I’m not actually interacting with them. I look at their documents, their personal items that are scattered around their memory card in their computer, and that’s it. I do nothing more than press a few keys, and then I’m done… This promotion, it- it makes me have to confront them in person, sometimes. I’m afraid it’s something I’m not the best at.”

 

“Why’s that, Cas?” Dean asks truthfully, and the two stop at the end of the hallway after a few more steps.

 

Castiel glances down to his shoes again, unable to look at Dean as the glass doors at the end of the hallway bathe him in moonlight and turn his eyes into glowing emeralds, “I never understood people, Dean. Social interaction isn’t one of my specialties… Now computers, I know. They’re easy and predictable, programmed with basic functions and processes… But _people?”_ Castiel shakes his head, “I can’t read a person like I can binary code. People aren’t sets or strings of numbers, they aren’t chips that are embedded with copper wires… They’re living, breathing things that are random and independent from any technological system that I’ve ever known by heart…” Castiel looks at Dean then, those irises training onto him intensely as he finishes speaking softly, “And that’s what makes them the most complicated of all things.”

  
  
Dean looks at him curiously.

 

"I don't want to get too deep over here on you," Castiel states, shrugging, "I don't want to ruin your night by going off and being all metaphorical."

 

"It's fine, actually. I like what you said, it makes sense..."

 

Castiel averts his gaze, and he finds that the air between himself and Dean has grown somewhat silent and awkward.

 

"So, um, what do you want to do now that I'm done with my little rant?"

 

"I'd like to go see something, actually. You wanna come with?"

 

Castiel hesitates as Dean looks at him eagerly, "I don't know, Dean. It could be a dumb idea if-"

 

“Cas, come on,” Dean grabs onto Castiel’s hand, smirking wildly as he pulls Castiel down the hall, “I want to see if something still works.”

 

“What?” Cas asks, feeling excitement bubble up under his skin.

 

“I’ve kept onto a key to it after senior year,” Dean begins, rushing them towards what seems to be the auto garage of the school, “I’m just hoping that they haven’t changed the locks since then.”

 

Castiel snorts, “Knowing how cheap schools are nowadays, I doubt that they would cough up the money to do that.”

 

“Just what I was thinking!” Dean grins.

 

The two stop in front of the door marked “AUTO”, and Dean grabs something out of his pocket to stick it into the lock of the door.

 

“Come on baby, I know you can open up for me,” Dean concentrates, turning the old key gingerly in the lock in hopes of not raising any alarms, and the tip of his tongue pokes out of his lips enough to mesmerize Castiel, “Huh, this is a little trickier than I thought.”

 

However, just as Castiel thinks that there is no greater sight than the bit of pink between Dean’s lips, the door to the school’s auto shop swings open. Dean has a triumphant grin on his face, so losing that small glimpse of his tongue could be excused.

 

“It hasn’t changed much since I’ve been in here last,” Dean whispers, and he takes a few steps into the room only to stop and pivot, looking at Cas as though he forgot something, “Hey, are you comin’ or not?”

 

Castiel nods, rushing to be beside Dean once more, and his eagerness makes the other man chuckle. Especially so whenever Castiel accidentally bumps into him.

 

“You know, when I look at you sometimes, I still see that clumsy boy from freshman year.”

 

“I’m sorry that my coordination hasn’t improved any since then,” Castiel comments, and Dean laughs.

 

It’s a beautiful sound.

 

“I swear, you sound like a damn textbook, Cas.”

 

Castiel presses his lips together for a second, “Sorry, it’s just that I have to be formal for my job. It carries over, I’m afraid.”

 

Dean slaps a hand on Castiel’s shoulder and smiles, “Come on, man. You’re not at work, you’re with me. Loosen up a lil’. Say a curse word or two.”

 

“Uh,” Castiel rubs at his neck, and he’s far too aware of the glimmer in Dean’s gaze, “fuck?”

 

“That’s what you call vulgarity?” Dean raises a brow, “Oh, please. Shout it, Cas. Scream it!”

 

Castiel speaks a with a little more volume this time around, as well as uncertainty, “Oh, well, shit?”

 

“Louder!”

 

Castiel swallows, and he begins cupping his hands in anxiousness, “Yes… I could, um… Damn!”

 

Dean smiles brightly, a laugh tickling his words as he speaks, “That’s it! Let it out, Cas! Let the world know how unprofessional you really are!”

 

Despite the initial encouragement from Dean, Castiel hesitates. However, with each passing second, Castiel feels something building up inside of him- something verbal and loud- and Dean seems to suspect that this is happening. He looks excited to see what comes of his catalyzing words.

 

“ _SHIT NOODLE FUCK NUGGET BITCH TITS ORANGE CREAMSICLE!”_

 

Dean pauses and raises a brow.

 

“Was that too much?”

 

“A little zesty and descriptive, but it could use some work,” Dean looks like he’s either on the verge of laughing or face palming, “I still like your spirit and your… delivery.”

 

Castiel nods, though he knows that he looks mollified rather than satisfied, “I guess that I had a lot pent up in me or something…”

 

Dean snorts, “Well, whatever you’re doing, it’s certainly giving you an eccentric vocabulary.”

 

“Just-” Castiel tries to change the subject, “What are we doing in here exactly, Dean?”

 

“I dunno, I thought I’d have a look around. See if anything’s been changed. You know, all the stuff adults do at reunions, if they even go.”

 

Castiel tilts his head, “Which leads to another question.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Why did you show up?” Castiel asks, crossing his arms as he does so, “I remember that you were ready to break out as soon as senior year rolled around. Why the change of heart, Dean?”

 

Dean shrugs, taking a step or two forward to pick up a wrench off of a table, and he examines it as he speaks, “I thought that maybe it’d be good for me or somethin’, you know?”

 

“No, I don’t.”

 

The other man sighs, and he sets the wrench down, “Cas, I’m a grown adult. I have a… boring, job, no serious relationship, no lifetime goals that I’m trying to achieve. You can see where this is going, right?”

 

Castiel remains silent; Dean doesn’t.

 

“I thought that I could find something, or someone, that I’d lost, Cas,” Dean braces his arms against the work table, and Castiel watches as he closes his eyes as he speaks, “My whole life, for some damn reason, everyone’s been drillin’ it in my head that when you care about someone, you go get ‘em.”

 

“So you’re on a quest then…”

 

Dean laughs softly, shaking his head as he does so, “Sure, Cas. I put on a suit of armor so I could go save the damsel in distress from my high school reunion.”

 

“Is it Cassie?” Castiel blurts, feeling something angry and hot boil up inside of him as each word spews out of his mouth without permission, “I heard that you two were really close freshman year during the first couple of months.”

 

“No, I mean, yeah, she was my first serious-ish relationship, but she’s not-” Dean pauses for a moment, “It’s just- we aren’t- I don’t- _ugh,_ ” Dean takes a hand and rubs it through his hair in annoyance, “I’m never good with words when it matters…”

 

Castiel furrows his brow, knowing that he’s scowling currently.

 

Dean sighs, “Look, Cas. Cassie isn’t who I came back here for, okay? She’s just-” Dean waves an arm around in the air, “I don’t know! But it’s not her!”

 

“Then who is it?”

 

Knowing Castiel’s horrible luck, his voice cracks, and Dean looks quite concerned.

 

“Hey,” he’s over to Castiel’s side in a second, wiping away tears that Castiel didn’t know he was shedding, “there’s no reason to cry, Cas. It’s all okay.”

 

“No, it’s not,” Castiel shakes his head, feeling Dean’s palms encase the side of his face gently as he does so, “I don’t understand, Dean. We’re essentially strangers, but here I am, crying over you because you somehow managed to burrow your way under my skin in five minutes.”

 

Dean blinks and stares at Castiel for a second, “Cas, what are you trying to say?”

 

“I only came to this reunion to see you, alright?” Castiel hisses out, “Ever since freshman year, I’ve been waiting for you to just, I don’t know, fall right back into my life? I was just so hopeless and I didn’t know it until I found myself thinking about you years down the road when I shouldn’t be. I should’ve forgotten you, Dean, but I didn’t. I couldn’t.”

 

Dean takes a deep breath, “Cas, just calm down.”

 

He shakes his head, “I don’t even know why I’m crying.”

 

Dean seems like he’s at a lost for words.

 

“I guess it’s because I’ve never really liked anyone before, or at least, had an interest in anything dealing with relationships.”

 

“Oh,” Dean whispers, “So… this is like… raw emotion for you?”

 

Castiel shrugs minutely, “In some sense, I suppose. Just- I don’t like the thought of it…”

 

There’s a pause, “Thought of what?”

 

“You coming back here for someone else,” Castiel murmurs, “It’s- it’s so _stupid,_ how I’m feeling. I know that I have no right to feel jealous or something, but I do and I have no clue as to why.”

 

“Cas, sometimes, shit just happens. _Feelings_ just happen.”

 

“I’m realizing that now.”

 

Dean smiles warmly, taking one of his hands away from Castiel’s face to pull him just a little bit closer until they’re against one another, “Just take deep breaths, Cas.”

 

“You still never told me who you’re here for,” Castiel mutters bitterly, gripping onto Dean’s shirt in a tiny, possessive bought of fear.

 

Dean’s chest is directly against Castiel’s ear letting him hear his heart at work, and its lulling beat spasms for a moment as Dean inhales sharply.

 

“I’m not one for fate or that romantic bull that couples tell each other on Valentines,” Dean states quietly, his voice soft and soothing as Castiel closes his eyes to try and calm his own erratic heartbeat, “but I know that sometimes two people are kinda sorta meant to stick it together.”

 

Castiel pulls back a little, raising his brow as Dean looks down at him.

 

“I was technically new to Lawrence freshman year. I practically knew no one, because I hadn’t been here since I was a lil’ kid. After my parents split up when I was four, my mom wanted to get as far away from this place as she could,” Dean looks away, and Castiel lets him, “So for most of my childhood, I sort of drifted in and out of schools as my mom tried chasing down jobs. She hated making us move so much, but bills never care if you can pay ‘em or not.”

 

“That sounds horrible,” Castiel goes back to leaning into Dean’s chest, hoping that the small act offers better comfort than his understated words, “I’m sorry.”

 

Dean snorts, “It’s nothin’ you or my mom did, Cas. It’s life. It’ll do things like that…”

 

“I know…”

 

Dean sighs, and he rubs a hand down Castiel’s side, causing the other man to shiver minutely, “It doesn’t change the fact that I was pretty much a fresh face when I started out here. A few people knew me, sure, but I was pretty much alone.”

 

Castiel grips onto Dean’s hand, and he lets his face find its way into the crook of Dean’s neck where the skin is warm and soft. It’s where his pulse is the strongest; where his voice originates and resonates across flesh and bone and forms all things _Dean._

 

“But there’s was one person,” Dean takes both of his hands and loops them over Castiel’s lower and upper back, as though if letting go and gaining distance meant losing the person who’s right in front of him, “one person who always made things a little better when I felt that way.”

 

“Who?” Castiel whispers, and his voice is breathy and uncertain, as though the answer could make or break him.

 

“He has eyes that are really, _really_ fucking blue, and black hair that looks like it’s never seen a brush,” Dean begins, letting his lips trace over Castiel’s forehead as they move with his muffled and affectionate words, “And in some literal sense, I fell head over heels for him.”

 

Castiel pushes against Dean, but only to stare- only to show his shock and confusion as to why this weird heat in his chest isn’t one-sided.

 

“You aren’t the only one who kept thinking about that day, Cas,” Dean plays with a few strands of Castiel’s hair as he speaks, and the gentle touch and movement of Dean’s fingertips cause Castiel’s eyelids to slip closed to focus on the sensation, “I don’t know why or how, but you always just stuck with me. I’d be thinking about some test in math or paper that was due the next day in English, and then all of the sudden, I’d see you blinking up at me from where you were on the ground. I remember your eyes and how they just locked on mine, more out of shock than anything else, and how your lips parted as though you were going to say something, but like you with your feet, they just didn’t want to coordinate with what you had planned out in your head.”

 

Dean comes closer then, and he guides Castiel’s body to where his back is against some car waiting for repair. They’re breathing becomes a little rougher- a little more greedy- and fingers linger from touching while fabric makes an unwanted barrier between them. There’s too much distance- too much stopping them from getting what the voice in their head is screaming at them to take- too much riding on this thin line that they seem to be dancing around each other on.

 

“I would see you sometimes, in the library or in the courtyard, and you were reading some thick textbook on computers and their codes. You would be so buried in it- so attentive- that I’d walk past you and you wouldn’t even notice me when I tried getting your attention. Nothing I did ever worked.”

 

“Oh my god,” Castiel lets his head fall onto Dean’s shoulder, “You mean to tell me that I’ve been technically cockblocking myself this whole time?”

 

Dean laughs, its sound rich and golden and perfect-

 

“Yes, Cas. I guess that you were.”

 

However, before anymore can be said, a flashlight’s beam shines onto the opposite side of the room, causing Castiel and Dean to rush for cover inside of the car they had been using for support.

 

“Shit!” Dean curses under his breath, shutting the door to the back seat as quietly and quickly as possible without them getting caught, “I didn’t think they’d be doin’ checks and stuff!”

 

Castiel lies flat against the back seat, breathing hard, and he tries not to blush as Dean flattens his form until he’s adjacent to Castiel, “Well, we are adults in a high school, and despite what you said earlier about that cliche romantic stuff, it’s pretty trite of us to sneak into the auto shop of the school to bash out some complex feelings.”

 

Dean rolls his eyes, though Castiel finds himself more focused with the flashlight shining dimly into the interior of the car.

 

“They aren’t even gonna come in here and look! Wow, what shit security…”

 

Castiel huffs a breath softly, “Dean, it’s a high school reunion. It’s not like there are gold bars in the trunk of this thing.”

 

The other man frowns, “There could be. For all you know, this could be the local mafia boss’ car.”

 

“Dean-”

 

“They exist! I know it, Cas!” Dean points a finger at Castiel as best as he can in the limited space, “They’re everywhere in the States, and no one can convince me otherwise!”

 

Castiel raises a brow, “Oh, so you’re one of those paranoid people now?”

 

Dean scoffs, looking offended as he does so, “I have my reasons!”

 

Before anymore theories can be debunked in the back seat of a clunker, a voice shouts from outside, “All clear! Must be rats or somethin’...”

 

“Like I said,” Dean murmurs, “shit security.”

 

“Shit school too if rats are that common,” Castiel adds, and Dean chuckles low and sweet.

 

However, the sound dies off as Dean’s looks at Castiel, his eyelids narrowing as Castiel stares back. His breathing speeds up and his heartbeat skyrockets as Dean takes a hand and brings it to Castiel’s face. He touches Castiel as though he were a treasure- as though he were delicate and made of paper, and that a caress with using too much pressure would rip him into thousands of unmendable pieces.

 

“You’re gorgeous, you know that?”

 

Castiel opens his mouth to reply, but Dean’s fingertips beat him. They place themselves over his chin and more, closing his jaw back and forcing him to fall silent- to keep his words held back like ravenous dogs getting chained up when they see a bone in front of them. Yet, Dean doesn’t seem to be aware of the strain building up in Castiel’s lungs like a bad cough, because he’s far too busy staring at his hand. After a few moments of nothing but looking, Dean exhales, feeling Castiel’s lips with his the pad of his finger as he does- looking reverent and awed as he traces Castiel’s delicate flesh.

 

The warmth from Castiel’s exhale doesn’t get too far with Dean’s hand in the way, and going by the shudder that passes through Dean, he seems to be okay with feeling Castiel just breathe.

 

“It’s- I wasn’t-” Dean struggles to find words as Castiel remains muted, “I didn’t know that it was going to feel like this…”

 

Castiel brings a hand up slowly, wrapping his fingers around Dean’s wrist to guide away Dean’s palm with his own, and he smiles warmly as Dean’s eyes bore into him, “Yeah well, I’ve never done anything like this before, Dean. I don’t know how it’s supposed to feel.”

 

“Wait, so you’ve never- …” Dean leaves the question hanging for Castiel to finish, but when he doesn’t, Dean’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, “So you’re tellin’ me that you’ve never done the do before?”

 

“No, I haven’t.”

 

Dean sits up and leans back on his legs, and he looks full-on dumbfounded by what Castiel had just told him, “Well… shit.”

 

Castiel feels some worry grow within him, “That isn’t a problem, is it?”

 

“No no no, it’s fine,” Dean assures, “Just, uh, a surprise, I guess.”

 

Castiel relaxes a little, and he rests his head on the cushion, “That’s a relief. I thought that my inexperience would freak you out or something.”

 

“You thought that you were going to freak _me_ out?” Dean smiles, “Cas, I don’t know what alternate universe you’re in or whatever, but it’s more like the opposite, actually.”

 

“How so?”

 

The other man helps Castiel sit up, “You’re the one who told me that you’ve never thought about being in a relationship earlier, right?”

 

Castiel pauses, “I guess I did.”

 

“You guess? Come on, Cas.”

 

“Fine, I did say that, you ass.”

 

“There we go,” Dean winks.

 

Castiel rubs at his head, noticing how Dean is fidgeting like he’s nervous, “So, um, what do we do now that this-” Castiel gestures a hand in between them, “is out in the open?”

 

Dean shrugs, “I was guessing that we could head back to my apartment or something. You could spend the night and we could have one of those stereotypical sleepovers where we paint our nails and braid each other’s hair, if that’s alright. I mean, you don’t have to, exactly, it’s just that I sort of wanna touch your lips again and-”

 

“You must be a lucky son of a bitch, Dean Winchester.”

 

Dean furrows his brow.

 

“I forgot to book myself a hotel room.”

 

They laugh in unison for a good ten minutes before they go and call a cab.

 

 

 

**-X-**

 

 

**- _{Present}_ \- **

 

Castiel wakes to feeling his back faintly pulse under the gauze that Dean had placed on it last night. He suppresses a groan, finding that his arms are too weak to push himself off of the mattress- wait… was the bed… _moving?_

 

Castiel’s eyelids raise groggily until they’re open enough for his vision to kick in. He blinks a few times, his sight blurred, but as the image before him becomes clearer and clearer, he begins to stiffen.

 

Down below Castiel Novak is a fucking sleeping Dean Winchester.

 

Dean’s chest rises and falls at a steady rhythm, telling Castiel that the man is still asleep at the moment, and it’s okay for Castiel to stare and wonder what in the fucking hell happened. His body is against Dean’s with every single inch of him pressed up against the other man, and he tries not to scream or move or do anything that can awaken Dean.

 

Castiel’s chin rests on Dean’s chest- has been since he woke up- and he uses the angle to practically stare at Dean’s slackened features as he has an internal panic attack.

 

It’s been over five years since they’ve touched like this, and Castiel can feel the steady thrum of Dean’s heart in his chest, can feel Dean’s relaxed exhales along the bridge of his nose and chapped lips, and he can even feel that their feet are tangled up together. It’s a simple kind of thing, but not, at the same time, for Castiel.

 

A part of him yells at himself for letting Dean even get close, and it’s the part of Castiel that is still hurt by what caused them to leave each other five years ago. It’s infuriatingthat he would even let himself get so close to Dean, especially when he started this whole thing yesterday trying to push him away. But now here is- here _Dean_ is- lying together on some motel bed that’s seen better days more than likely over twenty years ago now.

 

But…

 

Another part of Castiel is screaming at him to stay. It’s the part of him that’s been missing Dean even after all that happened- the one that’s been ignored and buried by Castiel for five years now- and it comes back with a vengeance. It demands that Castiel stays where he is, that he just lets this innocent moment happen, and it’s so starved for Dean’s touch that he finds himself practically paralyzed on Dean’s chest.

 

He doesn’t want to admit it because he’s so stubborn, but he’s missed this. He missed Dean. That little part of him has always been longing after he and his husband parted ways, and it’s the one reason that Castiel hangs onto some strange hope- the reason why Castiel kept Dean’s number in his phone because he had some dream that maybe it would light up the screen again with a call or text.

 

God, he sounds so desperate and forlorn… but it’s all true.

 

Castiel’s eyes close, the soft flesh crinkling as he fights back some tears at how fucking complete he feels while lying on the chest of a man that he isn’t supposed to care about. This whole situation, it’s _not_ supposed to be happening.

 

He's supposed to be back in Pontiac, Illinois with Balthazar planning his wedding and his move to another country in less than a month. He’s supposed to be sitting in his bed with Balthazar beside him wishing for a cigarette and for some ibuprofen. This… lying against Dean’s chest…

 

Castiel’s hands ball up in Dean’s shirt, and his teeth sink into his bottom lip as he tries to fight back the wall that seems to be coming down.

 

It’s just that it’s been so long since Castiel has felt anything remotely close to actual love.

 

Balthazar was sweet at first, and he promised Castiel all of the things he wanted. It was right after Castiel left Dean, and he was wearing his battered heart on his sleeve for all to see, even though he felt lost and hesitant. Yet, Balthazar swooped in like some knight in shining armor, pulled Castiel from his state of self-pity, and he told Castiel that he could make him feel loved again.

 

That never happened- or, at least- it’s not like that anymore, despite what Castiel might tell himself.

 

Dean’s heart beat is steady against Castiel’s skin, reminding him that Dean still has a place for him somewhere in there, even after all this time- all this distance. It makes Castiel repress a sob, a few tears running down his face as he knows that somewhere deep down, some place in himself that Castiel is trying so desperately to fight- his love for Dean resides and pleads to be felt.

 

It's a horrid thing. but also a relief.

 

Castiel lays his cheek against Dean’s chest then, breathing in and out in time with the other man, and he tries to convince himself that just for this moment nothing changed.

 

They didn’t fight- they didn’t separate- everything didn’t fall apart and rot away.

 

The tears slow down, but a few slip out every now and then to get soaked into Dean’s shirt, and Castiel’s breath hitches in his throat with every other inhale. His hands loosen their grip on Dean bit by bit, and surprisingly, Castiel finds himself falling into the lie that waking up on Dean’s chest was a common, everyday thing.

 

Just for this moment, Castiel will indulge with thinking that _nothing_ ever went wrong.

 

“C-Cas? …” Dean asks, breaking Castiel out of his thoughts, “You awake?”

 

Castiel lifts his head and blinks up at Dean, though his heart is screaming at him for his facade getting ruined.

 

“Yeah…”

 

The two men stare at each other for a moment, eyes blinking every few seconds, lips parted to say something else only to find that they can’t utter any words.

 

It’s then, of course, that Dean’s phone rings in his pocket.

 

“Oh, shit-” Castiel flails on Dean’s chest for a second as the other man jumps at the sound, his hand rushing for his pocket, “I gotta take this, Cas… I, uh, didn’t really check-in with Jo like I promised…”

 

Ah, yes- Jo.

 

“It’s fine…” Castiel murmurs, “I’ll be in the bathroom…”

 

Castiel gets off of the bed then, wincing as his wounds protest to his movements, and he shuts the door between himself and Dean with a little more force than necessary.

 

Castiel can hear bits of Dean’s conversation before he exits the motel room, muttering something about ‘can’t come back just yet’ or ‘I have someone with me at the moment, I'll explain things later’ before the room’s door shuts, announcing his absence. Castiel grips onto the edge of the sink like he did yesterday, knuckles whitened and the air goes in and out of his lungs in a therapeutic manner.

 

Castiel hangs his head against his chest, closing his eyes for a moment to settle the familiar ache he feels in his chest whenever there’s space between himself and Dean. Usually, it’s just a dull ache that Castiel mixes in with the stinging of Balthazar’s lingering touches, but today, it’s not holding back whatsoever. Castiel turns on the sink, grateful for the fact that motel water heaters suck, because it’s a guarantee that the water would be rigid as he splashes it over his face.

 

The freezing water shocks Castiel back into reality and numbs the sensation of longing he feels for just a moment. He looks up into the mirror, seeing the small crack in the bottom corner of it as his eyes trail up to meet his gaze.

 

There’s purple bags, as if you can see the outline of the sockets in his skull, and the veins around his irises are red and visible from his crying earlier. Castiel sighs, wincing at the sting of his chapped lips as they move. His hair is an absolute mess, well, more so than it usually is. There are raven strands sticking up in all sorts of directions and angles, and Castiel thinks that most people would assume he’s a drug addict at first sight.

 

God, he looks like absolute shit.

 

“Hey, Cas!”

 

Castiel jumps at the sound of Dean’s voice, but calms himself quickly and shuts off the sink, “Yeah?”

 

“You need to get ready to leave soon!” it sounds like Dean is already packing up their things, “Cops are gettin’ close, and we need to get ahead of ‘em! I kept things short and sweet with Jo, and I didn't explain anything, really. She'll probably call back later.”

 

“Okay…” Castiel murmurs.

 

There’s a knock on the bathroom door, and Castiel’s head whips over to stare at the slab of wood, “Cas… are you… are you okay?”

 

Castiel waits a second, wondering if he should tell Dean the truth. The one where he’s not fine- that his whole “I’m happy with my current life” is a facade because he doesn’t know what to feel anymore. He wants to tell Dean that he doesn’t want to go to the UK with Balthazar, that he doesn’t even want to be with Balthazar anymore when he's like this, and it’s hurting him. As Castiel’s mouth opens, he finds that the courage he had falls apart in seconds, leaving him feeling vulnerable and small.

 

“I’m just sore…”

 

That’s not a complete lie; but it’s not the truth, either.

 

“But I’ll be fine, Dean… I promise.”

 

Dean seems to linger at the doorway, as if he knows that Castiel is lying through his teeth from fear because he’s unsure of what to do or what he really wants anymore, and it’s obvious to anyone listening that he’s not on stable ground anymore.

 

“Okay, Cas,” he says quietly, and Castiel can tell there’s something in his voice that means he knows, “As long as you’re okay…”

 

As Dean walks away, Castiel wipes at his eyes furiously, because he’s far from that.

 

 

**-X-**

 

 **- _{May 24th, 2008}_ ** **-**

 

 

Cas lets out a breathy moan as Dean presses him against the wall of his hotel room.

 

It’s been fucking hell since Dean kissed Cas in the hallway of their old school, because every second after has been spent with Dean wanting to touch every single inch of Cas in anyway possible. Dean should get a fucking medal for not crashing his baby on the way down because- holy shit- he wanted to take his hands off his legs and put them all over on the perfect man in beside him.

 

Right now, though, all that matters to Dean is peeling off that delicious looking suit from Cas’ skin.  The fact that he can finally do what he’s been craving for since he saw Cas from across the gym floor is the most gratifying thing ever.

 

“Dean-” Cas lets his head rest against the wall, his mouth agape as Dean begins to unlatch his belt with deft fingers, “I thought- I thought you’d get me dinner first.”

 

Dean smiles, because god damn- _sassy?_ Like, that's biggest turn on ever.

 

“Sorry that I’m not exactly a gentleman.”

 

“S’alright…” Cas exhales heavily, sagging against the plaster as Dean moves to the zipper on his dress pants, “I’m okay with skipping all of those things if it means you can start fucking me.”

 

Dean groans, resting his forehead against Cas’, “I never knew you had such a dirty mouth, Cas.”

 

Cas snickers, “Well, let me show you how I use it.”

 

Dean’s jaw drops, especially as he sees Cas sink to his knees, right there without warning.

 

“Oh my god, _Cas,_ ” Dean manages to get some of his shock out before Cas gets his zipper down.

 

“Do you want me to stop-”

 

“No- _oh god no,_ ” Dean rushes out, staring at those innocent blue eyes as the look up at him, “S’fine. It’s _completely_ fine with me. This blowjob is a go.”

 

Cas raises an eyebrow at Dean, silently judgmental in some ways, before he shucks down the cloth covering Dean’s heated flesh. Chapped lips ghost over Dean’s hip bone, causing the man to jolt a little at the sensation, and his fingers slip into the mess that is Cas’ hair. A long moan escapes Dean when Cas licks a long stripe down his flesh, the hot, wet tongue only seeming to stop once it has reached the slit.

 

“A-Are you sure you wanna?” Dean asks one more time, because he’s a consent weary man, “You don’t have to-”

 

“I want to, Dean,” Cas answers, his reply causing hot puffs of air to rush against his cooling spit and Dean lets his head fall back against his wall as he groans.

 

Cas wastes no time after making his intentions clear, getting his mouth on Dean’s flesh almost immediately. Dean jolts forward, his hips moving for a moment against Cas’ tongue before he stops.

 

“Cas, you look sick.”

 

The man down below pulls off with a wet pop, his bottom lip wet with spit, “I- I apparently have a strong g-gag reflex.”

 

Dean chuckles at how red Cas looks, his eyes watery while his throat twitches as he coughs- “Come on, let’s get up in the bed.”

 

Cas doesn’t argue as Dean moves them up onto his mattress, in fact, he seems kind of happy to be off of Dean’s floor. This only causes Dean to laugh at Cas whenever he rubs at his knees subconsciously.

 

“Never given a blow job before, I see,” Dean wiggles his eyebrow, positioning himself above Cas with a smirk.

 

“I tried once with a cucumber while I was a freshman in college,” Cas mumbles, “Didn’t go over too well…”

 

“What happened?”

 

Cas flushes an even bright red, and his eyes look towards his chest as he whispers, “I threw up…”

 

Dean snorts, but he reels back the laughter at the glare he receives from Cas, “Okay, sorry, but… it’s a little funny-”

 

“Dean-”

 

“Alright, alright, I get it. Onto the sex.”

 

Cas just stares at Dean, waiting for him to make a move, and his chest rises and falls with what seems like a small amount of nervousness. Dean grins softly at that, slowly lowering his mouth until it’s pressed against Cas’ lightly. The other man doesn’t move a single centimeter, in fact, his chest stalls on his inhale and his limbs lock up and freeze until they feel as though they’re frozen and stiff.

 

“Cas,” Dean whispers, a smile lingering on his lips, “you gotta calm down, or else you won’t enjoy this… You wanna stop?”

 

Cas shakes his head so suddenly with so much speed, Dean wonders if the other man had just given himself whiplash, “No, no. It’s fine, Dean. I want this- I _need_ this.”

 

“Eager, much?” Dean teases.

 

Cas just huffs an impatient breath, and he starts scowling.

 

“Are you going to fuck me or not, Dean Winchester?”

 

Dean’s face instantly goes serious, “Oh, got it, going to be serious now… ‘Cause I _really_ wanna fuck you.”

 

“Stop talking.”

 

“Got it.”

 

Dean goes back to kissing Cas, finding that this time around, Cas is a little more enthusiastic. His chapped lips move against Dean’s fluidly, his teeth coming out to nip on Dean’s bottom lip with a chuckle. Dean suppresses a shudder at the feeling of Cas’ tongue snaking into his mouth, the other man’s hand slithering up his skin to find its way onto Dean’s neck, and one adventures up into Dean’s hair.

 

“This okay?” Cas asks, his voice partially out of breath as his eyes scan over Dean’s features for any sign of discomfort.

 

“Mhm,” Dean murmurs, his forehead resting against Cas’, because of course, Cas would find one of his favorite spots to be touched like- instantly- on the first try.

 

Cas tugs softly and Dean moans. Seemingly satisfied with this outcome, Cas pulls on the dirty blonde strands once more to see Dean’s reaction. When he rolls his hips into Cas’ without thinking or intending to do so, Cas smirks as though Dean were a puppet and he had just founds Dean's strings. Fuck- and the bastard knew _just_ how to pull them.

 

“Sensitive, much?” Cas mocks Dean’s earlier teasing with a smirk of his own, and Dean’s mouth parts only just a little so he can deep breaths.

 

“G-God dammit…”

 

Cas just laughs- and lord, it’s an amazing sound- while he pulls Dean down against him fully, his laugh lowering into a chuckle that makes his chest feel as though it’s vibrating against Dean’s, “I’m not going to do it often, I promise, since you look completely brain dead at the moment.”

 

“I feel like it…” Dean groans, his hips moving of their own accord.

 

Cas doesn’t seem to be in the mood for talking anymore, as Dean finds he gasps quietly, rubbing back against Dean with a new sort of ambition. Dean knows that they’ll never get off if they keep dancing around this by opening their mouths- other than kissing, of course, ‘cause kissing will always be a must have.

 

“Undressed. Both of us. Now.”

 

“ _Yes,_ ” Cas eagerly agrees with the plan.

 

The two men fumble out of their clothing, and they would’ve been more coordinated if they stopped staring at the other’s body as more and more skin appeared before them. Eventually, after some close calls with tripping or ripping fabric in their sloppy haste, they finally have no more cloth adorning their skin. They both breathe heavily, eyes half-lidded, as they just look at one another for a few moments.

 

“Savorin’ the moment?” Dean asks with some humor in his voice.

 

Dean has a hungry gaze is that goes over the slope of Cas’ navel to the stark edge of his hip bone.

 

“Yep,” Cas pops the ‘p’ and Dean stares at his lips, “It’s a _really_ nice view.”

 

A smile spreads over his mouth.

 

Dean can’t take it anymore, his body rushing forwards as he pushes Cas down against the mattress. The man below exhales roughly as Dean practically falls on top of him, pressing almost all of his weight into Cas.

 

“Are you trying to crush me to death or something?”

 

“I just-” Dean scrambles for his nightstand drawer, pulling it out to grab the bottle of lube that he always kept stashed for either private sessions with himself or others, “I gotta get in you.”

 

Cas nearly chokes on his spit as he swallows, but Dean is too focused on getting the damn lid off of the bottle to really pay attention to Cas’ struggle.

 

“Now look who’s eager-”

 

“Shut up,” Dean grits out without much heat, and Cas smirks and chuckles below him, “Do you wanna do this or not?”

 

“Alright. Shutting up now,” Cas wiggles a little under Dean’s body, “Mouth is _completely_ sealed.”

 

Dean sends a light glare at Cas, and the man presses his lips together tightly, and his face contorts to where he looks like he’s forcing himself _not_ to laugh.

 

“You’re a little shit, you know that?” Dean chuckles with a smile because god damn- this man’s smile alone is infectious.

 

Cas shrugs, “I’m well aware. Now come on, I’ve wanted you in me ages ago.”

 

Dean nearly squirts all of the lube onto them as the cap fucking _breaks_ from Dean’s grip at those words. His face becomes heated with what he knows is a lot of blushing. God- he must look like a damn tomato.

 

“Well…” Cas stares at the broken top of the bottle with wide eyes, his mouth working for a moment as he notices how much it’s leaking now that Dean has his vice on it from embarrassment, “I wasn’t quite expecting that.”

 

“You are to _never_ mention this again, got it?”

 

“If you fuck me I might consider it-” Cas’ words cut off and form into groans as Dean takes an over-lubed (shut up) finger and presses it against an area that he would very much like to have already been touching by this point.

 

“I’m going to make it as fast as I possibly can,” Dean practically growls out, his index finger shuddering against Cas’ flesh as the man below squirms and pants roughly, “because I seriously _need_ to fuck you, okay? We’ll go slower next time.”

 

“Next time? …” Cas looks at Dean then, his baby blue’s wide with some hope that there really will be another moment we’re they’re close and intimate just like this, and he licks his lips with a pink tongue.

 

“Of course,” Dean assures him, “I plan on there being more.”

 

Cas shuffles closer, and Dean wonders if it’s his heart that he can hear pounding, or if it’s his own, “So you’re going to stay? …”

 

“Yeah, Cas. I’m could stay, if you want me to.”

 

“Promise me you will,” Cas tugs him down, voice serious but endearing, “Even though we just kind of put things into motion, promise me that you’ll never leave, because I think I’m seriously falling for you, Dean Winchester. I just- I can't have you disappear on me again.”

 

Dean smiles, “Me too, Castiel Novak. Me too,” and he kisses Cas sweet and slow, “I promise that I’ll never leave, no matter what.”

 

Cas grins warmly down below him and gives a small laugh, which quickly turn into long moans that Dean Winchester will never get tired of hearing.

 

 

**-X-**

 

**- _{Present}_ \- **

 

Dean is packing up the Impala’s trunk when Cas comes out from the motel room. He looks like he’s got the shit beaten out of him (thanks, Balthazar) and that every hour he got of sleep last night was pointless. Dean feels bad for him at that moment, seeing how Cas winces when he moves his back a certain way as he walks, or how he just looks sick and tired.

 

“You can stop staring at me, Dean…”

 

Dean realizes that for the second time in under forty-eight hours, Cas has caught his gaze lingering on him, “Shit, you just… well... You look like shit.”

 

“I know I do,” Cas says lightly, as if this is a common thing- probably is with that douche, “I’m used to it.”

 

Dean’s knuckles turn white with how hard he grips the trunk lid, and he slams it, “I’m never going to understand why you let yourself stay with that dick.”

 

Cas just snorts, opening the passenger side door, climbing in without a snarky comment of ‘but I love him, Dean’.

 

It takes Dean a few seconds to get over that.

 

Dean scrambles into the car quickly, and he's somewhere down the highway when it happens.

 

“Shit,” Dean begins to reach for the glove box, hearing his ringtone blaze in the compartment, “That’s my phone.”

 

Cas bats Dean’s outstretched arm away with a huff, “Wouldn’t want you missing any important calls, would we?”

 

Dean scowls at the man beside him, only to mumble a thanks as he hands him his cell.

 

“Yeah?” Dean grits out, because really- this is so not the time for him to get assigned another job.

 

“ _I don’t know who pissed in your cornflakes, Dean, but I can assure you that it wasn’t me, so stop bein’ a dick and tell me how things are going._ ”

 

Dean’s throws his head against the seat in frustration as Cas chuckles beside him.

 

“Everything’s fine, Jo. I’m fine, even. Stop worrying and let me get back to dealing with this, okay?”

 

“ _Nuh uh, Dean Winchester,_ ” Dean freezes from where he’d been moving his phone away to end the call, “ _You’re not getting rid of me that easily._ ”

 

“You’re like a damn cockroach, I swear…”

 

Jo snorts over the line as Cas tilts his head at him, “ _Yeah, whatever. Now, how’s the whole ‘solo’ thing goin’ for ya? You haven’t run into any problems, have you?”_

 

Dean worries his lip for a second, and he can tell that Cas is waiting for him to open up about what happened with Balthazar, “I, uh, I might have?”

 

Jo groans, and Cas smiles at the sound as Dean glares at him silently.

 

“ _You aren’t even gone for twenty-four hours and you’ve already fucked something up. I swear, Dean Winchester, one day you’re going to get yourself killed because of your mouth or your ego._ ”

 

Before Dean can get his heated retort out, Cas bursts into a fit of laughter beside him, and over the line, Jo pauses.

 

“ _Dean,_ ” she sounds confused, “ _is someone with you?”_

 

“Maybe?”

 

Dean can hear her face palm, “ _Dean, what are you doing? You’re never this- this- **stupid.** What did you do now?” _

 

Dean licks his lips as he looks for words- oh, surprise!- there aren’t any, “I might be currently accused of kidnapping and attempted murder in Pontiac, Illinois…”

 

Silence.

 

“Jo?”

 

Nothing.

 

“Jo, come on, I didn’t fuck up _that_ badly-”

 

“ _Yes you did! I just looked it up, and there’s headlines all over the internet, Dean! There’s even about, I don’t know, several news stations that are currently posted outside of some house! Who in the hell did you piss off, and what did you do to them that would make them get this much press on your ass!?”_

 

Dean sighs, “Jo, it’s a long and very personal story, and I’d rather not get into too much,” he doesn’t have to see Jo in person to know that she’s opening her mouth to object, “Look, I’ll just tell you the jist of it, alright?”

 

“ _Fine,_ ” she grumbles out, “ _But you better do a good fucking job since I’m going to have to help clean this mess up._ ”

 

Dean rolls his eyes, laconically explaining that there was a legal issue that he needed to settle, and that there was a disagreement that somehow ended up becoming a fight, that somehow ended up becoming him jumping into the Impala to speed off with someone else. Jo is silent the whole time, but Dean car hear her clicking away on the computer as she more than likely reads up on what he did.

 

“ _So this man- Balthazar, from what the articles are telling me- got pissed at you and put a gun to someone’s head, threatening to fire it if you didn’t leave, and it ended up with you two fleeing the scene and getting wrongly accused of being the bad guys?”_

 

“Pretty much, yeah,” Dean watches as Cas shuffles nervously beside him.

 

Jo whistles low, “ _Sounds like a shitty situation to be stuck in…_ ” there’s a pause, and Dean knows that it means that there’s a question on its way, “ _So… Who is this person that you so heroically saved from the perils of an asshole?”_

 

“That’s not important-”

 

“ _Uh, yes it is, Dean. I know you. You just don’t jump in front of a bullet- literally, in this case, I guess- for some random person. They mean a lot to you-”_ Cas stiffens, and Dean tries not to feel mortified at Jo’s words- “ _and I want to know who they are, and why they have so much worth._ ”

 

Dean uses his other hand to grip onto the wheel tightly, “Jo, really. This is _not_ some place for you to be sticking your nose in-”

 

“ _I’m going to do it, whether you like it or not,_ ” she taunts, and Dean really wonders why he even deals with her sometimes, “ _so you might as well inform me consensually before I go snooping through some records._ ”

 

“Jo, if there’s one thing you could do for me, it’s this. Just- just drop this, please.”

 

There’s a pause, and Dean feels himself begin to worry; especially so when he hears Jo typing away. She snickers at something, and Dean knows that he’s done for.

 

“ _Hey Dean,_ ” she says in a mocking tone, “ _does ‘Operation Heated Tuesday’ mean anything to you?”_

 

Dean gapes, and Cas looks concerned as he pivots towards Dean, “ _You wouldn’t dare…_ ”

 

“ _Oh, I would, and I will,_ ” she tsks as Dean hears her scoll through the page he thought he had encrypted enough to keep her away, “ _It says here that you had to go undercover as a porn star._ ”

 

Cas quirks a brow as Dean knowingly turns a deep scarlet, “Jo, stop. Please-”

 

“ _It also states that you had to ‘dress up’ for it too,_ ” Dean is about to protest further when she interrupts with, “ _Really, Dean? Makeup and garter belts? I never took you for the type for drag…_ ”

 

Cas looks like he’s conflicted with laughing or feeling sorry for Dean as he hits his head against the steering wheel.  

 

“ _Oh! There’s a picture here, too!”_

 

“Fine, you win!” Dean yells at the phone, knowing that he’s blushing copiously, and that Cas knows about things he shouldn’t, “Cas, take the damn phone and tell her to learn about a thing called mercy!”

 

Cas hesitates at the cell offered to him, but he slowly grabs onto it, and lifts it up to his ear, “Hello?”

 

Dean is still fuming as he hears Jo’s sing-song voice over the line, “ _Hi! I’m Dean’s friend-”_  ha,  no really, _HA-_ “ _Jo, I was wondering who you might be exactly?”_

 

“Oh, I’m…” Cas looks at Dean for a second, wondering what to say.

 

“Just tell her, she’ll find out either way. She’s a stubborn and vindictive woman.”

 

Cas nods, and goes on with what he was saying beforehand, “I’m… I’m Castiel Novak. I’m Dean’s… husband.”

 

Jo is completely silent over the line.

 

“I don’t know what he did to upset you, but surely this all could’ve been avoided if-”

 

“ _HE NEVER TOLD ME HE WAS MARRIED!”_

 

Dean begins wishing that Balthazar hadn’t been a wuss, and that he actually did pull the trigger. It would’ve saved him all of this.

 

Cas looks visibly flustered and anxious, “We’re estranged, so, it’s not like that label has any real meaning behind it-”

 

“ _Are you kidding me!?”_ Jo yells through the speaker, “ _That ass puts a ring on your finger and doesn’t even tell me about it! The nerve that jerk has!”_

 

“Well, like I said before, we’re _estranged._ It sort of changes the circumstances,” Cas looks away from Dean to focus on what’s outside the passenger window instead.

 

Jo snorts, “ _Like hell it does. Estranged just means, ‘we’re a little distant, but we haven’t officialized anything yet, so we’re not really separated’. Anyways, I have a few questions for you Castiel, if you don’t mind._ ”

 

“Sure?”

 

“ _Is Dean good in bed, and is there a signature move or trademark involved? Trust me, I don’t want to bump uglies or do the horizontal tango. It’s just that me and a few other girls around here have a wager on if I could sleep with him, and this honey wants that money._ ”

 

Cas chuckles as Dean tries to become one with his baby’s wheel, “Uh, I guess he’s qualified for the job. He likes necks and pulse points, I guess. I wasn’t ever disappointed.”

 

Dean’s head snaps up at that, and Cas only flushes at his stare.

 

“ _Looks like I’m about to win fifty bucks, yes,_ ” Jo is utterly and luckily oblivious to the awkward tension that now fills the Impala, “ _I was also wondering if you’re the reason why Dean had a complete breakdown around ‘09?”_

 

Dean decides that he’s had enough, and he grabs the phone away from Castiel before any answers or more questions can be uttered.

 

“That’s _enough,_ Jo,” Dean growls into the phone, “I hope you had fun terrorizing me, you ass.”

 

“ _That’s what I’m here for!”_ if she isn’t currently smiling from ear to ear, may fate strike Dean dead- huh, it’d be a favor, actually.

 

Dean groans as he hangs up, and his grimace only worsens in severity as he realizes that he’ll have to call her later on how to deal with this whole situation.

 

There’s a tense silence in the car, and Dean stares at the world before him instead of the man beside him. Cas seems like he has no interest in speaking either, and it’s a relief- a blessing, actually- to not have to discuss what really went on for the past ten minutes or so.

 

When Dean sees Jo again, he’s going to shoot her in the knee; but before he can do that, there is a small bit of conversing that he has to go through.

 

“I’m sorry,” he says awkwardly, and it catches Cas off guard, “Normally Jo isn’t so… terse, with things. I’m just sorry that you had to go through that because of her.”

 

Cas grips onto the fabric covering his legs, “It’s- it’s alright, Dean. It’s not your fault. I know that you didn’t want that happening anymore than I did.”

 

“Yeah, but-” Dean sighs, “I just wish that our pasts weren’t some fucking spectacle for others to watch, you know? Our problems aren’t meant to be entertaining…”

 

“That’s just how it is, Dean,” Cas closes his eyes and shakes his head, “People enjoy watching drama, especially if it’s not their own.”

 

Dean nods, knowing that better than anyone else, “I know… I just wanted to let you know that I’m sorry for that.”

 

The other man smiles lightly, “I know, and I thank you for your unnecessary apology, but I do have one question of my own.”

 

Dean sighs, “Shoot.”

 

“Did you really have a breakdown in 2009?”

 

Blue irises lock onto Dean’s, and he finds himself unable to look away, yet also unable to answer. He knows that Cas knows. He knows that it isn’t that hard to figure out- that it isn’t that hard to connect the dots when it’s laying all out in front of you for you to see. Nothing is hidden; nothing is skewed. It’s the hard and unfiltered truth, and no matter how much Dean wishes that it wasn’t this way- that Cas wasn’t too smart for his own good- that there is no avoiding the irrefutable answer that they both are already far too aware of.

 

“It’s not as bad as you’re thinking-”

 

“Dean,” Cas gives him a look, “don’t belittle something because you just don’t want to talk about it.”

 

Dean shakes his head and looks away from Cas, “The first couple of months were rough on me, okay? I’m sure that yours weren’t too pretty, either. So don’t focus on me when we both know that we were both hurt and going through a lot of shit for a while.”

 

“Fair enough,” Cas shrugs and averts his gaze from Dean, “but that doesn’t mean that I’m not going to forget what Jo said.”

 

“And why is that?”

 

Cas stares out of the front windshield for a moment, and he tilts his head marginally, “She wouldn’t bring it up if it didn’t have importance, right? I don’t know what happened with Ruby-whatever, and I don’t want to, but she mentioned it because it had weight. Why would she ask about me causing some breakdown of yours if it wasn’t serious?”

 

Dean gapes at Cas, but then shuts his mouth without saying another word.

 

“Don’t go silent on me, Dean. Something happened after… well, you know- that night. I just want to know how bad off you were, Dean-”

 

“Cas, there are some things I am never going to tell you about, nor explain, and this is one of them. So in kind words, I’ll say it- let it go. I don’t want to talk about it, and trying to force me to open up will only lead us down a dark road, Cas. Just- don’t.”

 

Cas doesn’t look pleased to drop the subject, but instead, he changes it. Dean’s grateful that there are at least some miracles still left to his name.

 

“To whatever you're thinking, I say no.”

 

“What?” Dean looks at Cas then, “I haven’t even said anything…”

 

Cas scoffs at that and gives Dean his trademark, ‘oh really’ face and smiles, “Dean Winchester, I know you well enough by now to know when you have an idea that isn’t a good one.”

 

Dean rolls his eyes as he pulls back onto the highway, “Oh, yeah? Then what am I thinkin’ about, then?”

 

“Murdering Balthazar, I’m sure.”

 

“Touche.”

 

Cas gives a small laugh, and Dean feels that small part of his chest- that empty void that is oddly Castiel Novak shaped- actually numb for a moment, “I told you. I know you better than you think. Besides, you’ve gotten this look about you whenever he gets mentioned, so I’m assuming it’s your murdering face.”

 

Dean smirks, keeping his eyes on the road, “Is it menacing?”

 

“If you think the term ‘adorable’ is threatening, then I think you need a reality check.”

 

“So you think I’m cute?” Dean looks over to Cas, wiggling his eyebrows playfully.

 

Cas gives him a face at the comment, “Even after all this time, you’re still a cocky fucker.”

 

“I _am_ a sex god.”

 

Cas bursts out laughing, and Dean smiles despite wondering if he should feel offended at him laughing at the comment or happy that Cas is even making the sound after all he’s been through- that they’ve been through.

 

Just for that moment, Dean lets himself bask in the sound that is Cas’ laugh as he drives them down the highway to somewhere that is farther away from Pontiac, Illinois.

 

 

  **-X-**

 

 

 

They remain silent for most of the ride, and the awkwardness of earlier is still apparent. Despite this, it’s while Dean is filling up the Impala with gas that Castiel speaks to him.

 

“You know,” he begins, setting his face on the roof of Dean’s baby, “I never met any of your family after we got together. Not even once.”

 

“Castiel-”

 

“I’m serious,” Castiel isn’t listening, and Dean rubs a hand over his face, wishing that the tank would fill faster so they could leave, “I never even got to meet your infamous brother, or the holiness that is your mother, Mary.”

 

Dean sighs, “There was no point when we got together.”

 

Castiel tilts his head, and Dean groans because, of course, Castiel is like that stupid curious cat in that folktale or whatever the hell it is.

 

“My mother had moved to Hawaii by the point that you and I were dating. She left because she retired, and there were no longer ‘any birds filling her nest’. Happy now?”

 

“What about Sam?”

 

The pump jerks to a stop, and Dean is grateful that at least the Impala is full on gas while Cas is full of questions.

 

“Sam went to Stanford to become a lawyer.”

 

Castiel seems surprised, “Did he make it?”

 

“‘Course he did! Did you even know how fuckin’ smart that kid was?” Dean shakes his head as he begins to get into the driver’s seat, and Castiel follows suit, “He works on international cases now, and that means that he’s out of the country most of the time using that ridiculous brain of his.”

 

The other man furrows his brow, “So you’re alone now?”

 

Dean instantly finds himself getting flustered, “Well,  no. I mean, I have Jo and Ash-”

 

“But that’s not family. They aren’t what you want exactly,” Castiel murmurs, “I know how you are, Dean. Family means everything to you.”

 

Dean is about to retort with something else, but he decides that he’s had enough of this dissecting of his life, and he changes the subject bitterly, “Yeah, well, you’re a hypocrite.”

 

Castiel raises a brow at that, “Oh yeah? How come?”

 

“I never saw any of your family, either,” he points out, “I mean, other than rarely interacting with Anna freshman year and Gabriel while he was alongside us in school, I never really got to met your family officially.”

 

“There’s a reason for that,” Castiel grits out, and Dean is slightly taken aback by the hostile undertones of the other’s voice that aren’t entirely directed at him, “I left them after I graduated with no intentions of ever seeing them again, even if I got married or terminally sick or  _ whatever. _ I saved you from a lot of bullshit. I didn’t cheat you out of anything special like you’re thinking. Hell, if anything, I did you a fucking  _ favor. _ Trust me.”

 

Dean, who is far too shocked by Castiel’s completely negative reaction, only nods, and puts the car into gear so he can drive away. 

 

They never bring the subject of family up ever again; they don't talk for a while, either.  


 


	5. Denying Every Tear

 

They arrive at another town that Dean doesn’t remember the name of hours later. The sun has gone down by this point, and Cas sleeps as he rests his head against the window. He’s been this way for an hour or so now, and Dean knows that healing from his wounds have taken a lot out of him.

 

Dean stops at general store, going inside of them to grab a few more medical things for Cas, and even grabbing a bottle of vodka because honestly, alcohol helps with that kind of shit. He pays for the items and walks back to the Impala, thinking about how long Cas’ back had to be like that to get ~~so~~ that infected. Dean stops his brain on that train of thought when he realizes just how angry he’s getting.

As Dean gets back into the car, he notices that Cas had woken up to blink drowsily at him.

 

“W-What are we doing here?” he groggily rubs at one eye, yawning as he adjusts himself in his seat.

 

“I needed to get a few things so we could keep your back in check… and I got you some vodka.”

 

Cas nods, “Thanks…”

 

Dean is about to reply when he sees the white stick in Cas’ hand- “Cas, did you take a cigarette from my glove box?”

 

“Might have.” it’s then that he puts it in between his chapped lips and lights it.

 

“Little shit…” Dean mutters, getting inside of the Impala and turning on the engine.

 

After a few moments, Cas realizes they’re not moving.

 

"Uh, why are you still in park?”

 

Dean pulls out a death stick for himself, and he takes the lighter as Cas offers it, setting the end of his cigarette aflame. Cas watches Dean as he takes a deep inhale, smoke filling his mouth and soaking into his lungs beautifully before it comes out in wisps over his lips.

 

“I want you to tell me what we’re gonna do now, Cas.” Dean states easily, not looking at the other man as he does so, and he goes for another drag instead.

 

“What _we’re_ going to do?” Cas echoes.

 

Dean nods, exhaling more smoke into the cab of his baby as he rolls down his window partially, “Yeah, Cas… The cops are on our asses, and I don’t want to be on the run as a ‘kidnapper’ forever. So, I want you to tell me what we’re gonna do here.”

 

“I-” Cas looks down to his lap, finding his palms resting on his knees with a lit cigarette burning lightly in between his two fingers on his right hand, “I don’t know…”

 

“You need to figure it out, Cas…” Dean murmurs, looking towards the man in his passenger seat, “You can’t leave yourself hangin’ on this.”

 

Cas sighs in defeat, bringing his cigarette up to his lips but hesitating, “I know I can’t, Dean, but… I don’t have many options here.”

 

Dean watches as Cas breathes in a lungful a smoke, and some of the tension leaves his shoulders, “What can you do?”

 

“I can go back, but-” Cas shakes his head slowly, “I don’t want to, exactly.”

 

“I’m guessin’ you’ve had enough of Balthazar’s shit?”

 

Cas snorts, smoke ghost over his lips with the noise, “You could say that…”

 

Dean nods, flicking some ash off outside of the car, “So, are you gonna go after his ass then?”

 

“That’s not a bad idea, actually…” Cas throws his head back, Dean watching as he takes a drag- his throat moving- the smoke rising out of his lips and into the air with almost a languid pace- “I’m guessing that I’m going to go to court over this whole fiasco anyways.”

 

“What about marrying him?”

 

Cas sits up at that, and there’s silence for a moment. Both men stare at the other, faces stern, mouths set into firm lines. Their cigarettes burn in between their fingers, and neither of them can find the desire to bring it up to their lips and inhale.

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“You don’t know?”

 

“I just-” Cas holds his face in his palms, being careful of the cigarette, “Dean, I don’t what I’m supposed to do, okay?”

 

Dean tilts his head, but says nothing.

 

Cas just lets his head hang low, his death stick forgotten at the current moment, and he can tell that Cas is trying to hold himself together- “Balthazar is my everything, Dean… He’s been the only home I’ve had for years now, the only person whose shoulder has been there for me… He’s- he’s done so much for me.”

 

“He beats you, Cas-”

 

“You think I’m not aware of that!?” Cas snaps as he glares at Dean, only to drop his gaze and take a long, deep drag.

 

Dean sighs, waiting a few tense moments before speaking softly, “Cas, I don’t care if you hate me- I don’t blame you, either- but I don’t want you to let someone just beat the shit out of you because they’ve had a bad day and you’re their vent… You just- you don’t deserve that…”

 

Cas closes his eyes, shaking his head and chuckling darkly, “Yeah, well, maybe I do.”

 

Dean stares, almost unable to speak, “Cas-”

 

“No, I don’t want to hear it-” Cas snaps his eyes open, flings the cigarette out of the Impala’s window with vigor, “I won’t listen, okay? I’m tired of people in my life telling me that they care or they love me when all they do is hurt me- I’m tired of having to fucking wake myself up in the morning knowing that my heart was broken by two people who promised me everything- and newsflash, Dean, you’re one of them.”

 

Dean says nothing.

 

“You know, I remember that night really fucking well, you know?” Cas goes on, his voice self-loathing, angered, nothing like how Cas should be- “I hate myself for it, Dean, and I feel so fucking awful for all that I’ve done- and I can’t stand looking in the mirror in the morning… I just- …”

 

“I understand.”

 

Cas turns on him, eyes cold, “How would you know, Dean? Last time I checked, you were okay with killing people or threatening them into submission.”

 

“Because I hate myself for what I did to you.”

 

Cas backs down, glaring out the ide of his window, his lips pressed tightly together.

 

“You think you’re not the only one who feels like shit over what happened? Over what they did- over everything they’ve done? You think I don’t feel regret for wronging people- but especially you? God, Cas- you make everything about yourself when it comes to this shit. It’s all ‘pity me’ or ‘I have the worst sob story ever’ and you don’t give two shits about the person who’s having to listen to your emotional onslaught of bullshit-”

 

“Fuck you!”

 

“You have before!”

 

It’s a low blow, Dean knows it, and Castiel fumes in his seat- “Yeah, well- maybe there’s a damn reason I don’t want to even fucking touch you anymore…”

 

“You seemed happy enough to sleep on my chest this morning.” Dean retorts curtly, glaring straight back at Castiel as he drops his cigarette out of the window without even looking.

 

“If it weren’t for the fact that I need you to still sign those damn divorce papers, I would fucking beat the shit out of you until you couldn’t even remember your own name let alone who I am.”

 

“That would be nice- wouldn’t it?” Dean hisses, “For none this to have ever actually happened to us, huh? You would be so fucking happy right now if I never bumped into your clutz ass while walking to class. Well guess what, Cas? That fucking makes _two_ of us who wish we never, ever happened!”

 

Castiel eyes widen and he opens his mouth, only to pause and press his lips together abruptly.

 

Dean gives an angry laugh, “Oh- so there’s no fucking, smartass retort now? I’m getting the silent treatment because, what, you’re mad at me for admitting the fucking truth about just how fucked up this whole relationship- whatever the fuck it is- has become?”

 

Castiel doesn’t say a word- he just stares off into the distance as he faces the dash.

 

“Really, that’s it?” Dean rolls his eyes, “What the fuck, Cas… Of course you’d get upset over me telling you the truth for once. You’re such a fucking paradox.”

 

Castiel’s hands visibly tighten their grip on his sweats, and Dean wonders why Cas is doing that.

 

Suddenly, a fist comes into contact with Dean’s face, and he yells at the feeling of knuckles connecting with his flesh in a rather rough manner. He can hear Castiel yelling at him in rushed, heated words and curses, but Dean has to remember what it’s like not to throw up.

 

Well- it doesn’t go over too well.

 

Dean opens up the Impala door and vomits onto the asphalt abruptly. He can vaguely register Cas immediately shutting up and getting out of the car- and Dean wonders if Castiel is going to run off and leave him here to empty his stomach out of every single drop it currently contains.

 

“Oh my god- Dean-”

 

Dean holds back another wave of nausea as he feels Cas maneuver him around until he’s in the passenger seat. He lets out a long groan of pain, his head feeling like it’s about to split into two as Cas curses and whips out of the parking lot.

 

At least, that’s all Dean can see before his vision fades into black.

 

**-X-**

 

**- _{September 18th, 2008}_ \- **

 

Castiel takes a deep breath, looking down to the ring on his left hand, and he swallows what feels like a whole bunch of air since his mouth has long gone dry. Today is his wedding to Dean Winchester- and in just ten minutes, Castiel will soon have his last name and another metal band placed on his finger, and for the rest of his life, he’ll have Winchester as his last name.

 

You can think that you know yourself for your whole life, but as soon as you know that you’re going to walk down that aisle, you’re going to technically become someone else, or maybe- someone else’s.

 

Castiel doesn’t know what it is. Maybe it’s the official binding of him to Dean that’s making him feel different- maybe it’s the fact that he’s about to make a serious commitment to become Dean’s husband for the rest of his days.

 

He isn’t quite sure, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever quite know.

 

“Cas?” there’s a knock on the door, and Cas tries to keep his heartbeat from skyrocketing at the thought of the ceremony being now- “You alright in there?”

 

“I’m fine, Dean.” Castiel’s voice wavers on the last syllable, and Dean knows by this point that means that Castiel is lying.

 

“You’re nervous,” Dean begins, his voice sincere even for it coming through the locked door, “and it’s completely okay and normal that you are. You should be, Cas. But I’m here for you, okay? I always will be.”

 

Castiel smiles despite the churning of fear that rests low in his gut and crests in his throat like a rogue wave that he was never expecting, “Thank you, Dean.”

 

There’s a small chuckle from the other side of the white wood, “Alright, pep talk over. You’ve got five minutes, Cas. Well- we’ve got five minutes.”

 

“I can’t wait.” Castiel manages without letting his nerves seep into his words.

 

Dean walks away then, and Castiel lets his eyes look up into the mirror.

 

Maybe he’s feeling out of place because he and Dean have only been together for a few months now. He knows that some couples wait years, sometimes _decades_ to finally put on the rings and chime the wedding bells, so maybe he’s feeling this way because he didn’t wait like they did. Maybe it’s because he just jumped headfirst into this relationship with Dean, and now that it’s becoming extremely serious and permanent, he’s beginning to realize that maybe he just dived in when he didn’t know how to swim.

 

No- he loves Dean- he loves him a lot- and this wedding is something he has feared only for the past week or so, and it wasn’t even at this level as it is now. He wants to get married to Dean, he wants to walk down that aisle knowing that when he comes back down it, Dean will be with him. He wants to wake up in the morning knowing that he’s not alone, and he wants to go to bed with Dean’s arms around his waist as he nuzzles into his neck.

 

Fuck- he wants an eternity of that.

 

So why he is so nervous that he’s finally getting to have it?

 

“It’s time, Mr. Novak.”

 

Dean wanted their wedding to be a private event, so Castiel knows that at least he won’t have to deal with hundreds of people watching him. Their families weren’t even attending, and Castiel is glad. He wanted to become Dean’s without many eyes training on him, because this whole relationship it has just been about Dean and Castiel.

 

There was going to be no one to come in between them.

 

Castiel takes another grounding breath as he exits his room, adjusting his tux as he walks. As he pulls back the door, the man smiles at him before fixing his olive handkerchief in his pocket.

 

“You look perfect.” he comments professionally, “Now go out there and get him.”

 

Castiel gives the chapel’s employee a grin before going to the big oak doors that keep him and Dean Winchester apart.

 

This is it.

 

Castiel pushes the wood aside, feeling his heart pound up into his throat as he notices Dean standing at the alter with that shit-eating grin of his. His irises are warm and happy as Castiel begins to walk down the small aisle (they did pick this place for a reason, mind you) to reach him.

 

Dean’s tux is similar to Castiel’s own except the handkerchief is a creamy blue rather than a green, and Castiel is happy that they agreed on switching the colors around. The black fabric hides nothing from Castiel’s imagination, and even though he’s seen every inch of Dean already, he can’t help the little shiver that goes down his spine at the sight. Dean’s grin widens, because, of course, the fucker noticed Castiel’s reaction.

 

Yet, before everything can get awkward by Castiel popping a boner, he manages to slide into his place at the alter. His fear does a good job at keeping him decent, in that sense.

 

“I’ve noticed that you two just want to exchange vows,” the pastor grins at them, “so, I’ll just skip all of the ‘do you object’s and the other speeches that you obviously don’t want to hear. Now, Dean Winchester, could you read your vows to Castiel Novak?”

 

Dean nods, looking towards the floor for a moment before speaking, his voice sincere, “Cas, I remember when I bumped into you freshman year. You were just this scrawny kid who liked computers too much, but I knew from then on that you were something more. Time went on and we never saw each other again, well, until graduation, of course. I saw you then, and how much you had changed and I just-” Dean exhales, his eyes looking up to meet Castiel’s with an endearing gaze, “I knew that I was going to get you someday. And I did- and look where we are now.”

 

Castiel gives a small chuckle, a light smile spreads over his lips.

 

“I just love you so much, Cas.” Dean begins again, “My whole life, my parents talked to me about loving someone. They warned me, they taught me to be careful- but they told me that I would know who it was that I wanted to live the rest of my life with. That’s you, Cas. It’s always been you.”

 

Castiel has to avert his eyes for a moment, feeling tears brewing as he inhales, trying to calm himself.

 

“Castiel Novak,” the pastor speaks, and Castiel’s head shoots up, “you may now exchange your vow to Dean.”

 

Castiel takes a deep breath, because it’s now or never, and he looks towards Dean as he swallows, “Dean Winchester, I, uh, I told you from the beginning that I was never good with people. It should be obvious for the fact that we met because I ran into you.” Dean chuckles, his smirk wide, “It should be expected of me to be out of my element when I’m with you. I don’t get a lot of your references, and I really don’t understand how you work or do things. I told you, I’m better with computers for a reason.” Dean snorts, wordlessly agreeing, “But I want to try. I want to try to figure you out and I want to try and show you that I want to know you by heart… You promised me that you were going to stay, and in turn, I promise that I’m going to try to understand everything about you, Dean.”

 

Dean looks like he’s about to swoop in and just kiss Castiel.

 

The pastor sees this and holds back a chuckle, “Dean Winchester, do you promise to take care of Castiel, and to never hurt him?”

 

“Of course I do.”

 

The pastor turns to Castiel, though neither men are looking at him now, “Castiel, do you promise to take care of Dean, and never hurt him?”

 

“I do.”

 

Dean’s lips part for an honest-to-God smile, and Castiel returns it wholeheartedly.

 

“Castiel Winchester and Dean Winchester, I know pronounce you husband and husband.”

 

Dean wastes no more time and surges forward, placing his lips against Castiel’s.

 

As their flesh meets, Castiel doesn’t feel off at all.

 

 

 

**-X-**

 

**- _{Present}_ \- **

 

“Well, I don’t know what _he_ did exactly, but he’s got a minor concussion.” the clinic doctor announces, eyeing Castiel suspiciously, “I would suggest that he’d take it easy for a couple of days.”

 

“I’m not a fragile f-flower…” Dean stutters, one of his pupils dilating as he looks at Castiel, “C’mon, Cas.”

 

The doctor stops Dean from getting off of the examination table so quickly, “Hold on, I’m not done yet. I have a few things I want you to be aware of before you leave.”

 

Castiel notices how the nurse glances at him, specifically his bruised knuckles that look more damning than anything else- and Dean snorts while he sounds slurred as though he were drunk- “And w-what’s that?”

 

“We have a few numbers here for you, if need to call them just in case of an emergency. Concussions are kind of a risky business, so a lot could go wrong. That being said, you’re going to have to take everything step one at a time.”

 

“Is there anything I can do? …” Castiel asks quietly, guilt rising up into his throat and settling into his tongue as a sour, putrid taste he can’t quite swallow without feeling remorse alongside it.

 

The nurse’s eyes are calculating, making unsaid accusations as they rest on Castiel with a glare that could rival his own, “Being _gentle_ would help him a lot. He can’t fall asleep either, just for a day or so, because of there being a chance he can slip into a coma.”

 

Castiel looks down from her stare, fidgeting in his seat, “H-How could I keep him awake?”

 

“Talk.” she suggest icily, “But I’m guessing that after this incident, you two were going to end up doing that, anyways.” with that, she storms out, and Castiel just slumps in his seat and holds his face in his hands.

 

“C-Cas? …” Dean asks quietly, voice off- everything’s _off-_ “Y-You alright, man?”

 

Castiel wipes away a tear that managed to slip past his defences, keeping his head hanging low as he speaks, “Yes, Dean… I’m fine.”

 

“Then w-why are you crying?” he asks almost innocently- as if the head injury that Castiel gave him has caused him to actually feel concern for his attacker.

 

“I’m just happy you’re okay…” Cas says brokenly.

 

“Oh, okay, Cas.” Dean says happily, and Castiel can’t help but feel pity for the fact Dean is hurt bad enough to where he’s become gullible.

 

They walk out of the clinic together without much of a fuss. Well, a non-verbal one, at least. As Castiel leads Dean- the man sways slightly and is mumbling something about pie- through the clinic, a group of nurses are huddled together and whispering things to another as they eye Castiel like judgmental hawks. It causes him to drag Dean out of there faster then before, hurrying him into the Impala to escape those stares.

 

“W-Why are they glarin’ at me, Cas?” Dean asks as the women gather near the windows of the clinic to cross their arms and just _stare-_ “I didn’t flirt with one of ‘em, did I?”

 

“No, Dean. They’re mad at me.”

 

Dean nods slowly, a small ‘oh’ coming out of him before he asks, “What d-did _you_ do then, Cas?”

 

Castiel tries not to speed as he leaves the parking lot of the clinic, sighing as he notices that Dean hasn’t lost interest in his mistakes, “I, uh- I think they were mad at me because I let you get hurt.”

 

“You didn’t do anything… did you?” Dean looks away then, staring at the dash and rubbing at something on his features- Castiel hasn’t been able to look him in the face since he hit Dean with all of his anger located in his fist- “I don’t really remember w-what happened to me…”

 

Castiel isn’t surprised that Dean can’t, knowing how hard his knuckles connected with his face, it isn’t a large leap of faith to say that his concussion has caused some minor memory issues.

 

“Do you know what happened?”

 

Castiel’s bruised knuckles pop as his grip tightens on the steering wheel, and he tries to find a good enough answer, “I- …”

 

“S’okay, C-Cas…” Dean looks at the pile of papers that the nurse discharged him with, “It should say it on here.”

 

Castiel’s heart hammers in his chest at the thought of the nurse putting something like ‘assault’ or ‘physical abuse’ on there, and it worsens whenever Dean turns his gaze on him- as if he _knows._

 

“It s-says unknown…”

 

Castiel can’t help but let out an internal sigh of relief as he pulls up to a motel, “We’re staying here for tonight.”

 

Dean doesn’t say anything else, but he seems too busy with looking at his medical report from the clinic to notice Castiel’s stricken expression.

 

“Here’s s-some money…” Dean hands Castiel a handful of bills without removing his eyes from the black ink staining the papers in his hands, “Could I really go into a coma, Cas?”

 

"Yes," Castiel speaks quietly, "there's a chance of it happening to you."

 

Dean stares at his lap- "I don't want that to happen..."

 

"I won't let it."

 

Dean's head swivels towards Castiel at that sentence, "Y-You won't?"

 

Castiel shakes his head, his gaze refraining from meeting Dean's, "No. This is my fault anyways."

 

"But the papers say unknown..." Dean argues lightly, "How can that be your fault?”

 

"Let's just get you inside, Dean."

 

Castiel leads Dean up to the office of the motel, and they go inside and purchase a room. Dean is mumbling nonsense as they make their way to the Impala.

 

"My head hurts." Dean comments offhandedly, leaning into the black metal of his car.

 

"It's going to for a little bit, Dean."

 

Castiel grabs their bags and opens the door to their room, trying his hardest not to look at Dean as he does so. Regret is a heavy tension that rests on his already strained shoulders.

 

"You okay, C-Cas?"

 

Castiel sets their things on one of the two beds available, avoiding Dean like his life depends in it- and it might- "I'm alright, Dean... You don't need to worry about me. I'm not good enough for that."

 

Suddenly, Castiel finds himself face to face with Dean, and he can't hold back a grimace as he notices the dark bruise spreading over Dean's face like heavy watercolor over a pale canvas, and his lip is split and swollen- "You _are_ imp-portant, Cas."

 

Castiel pulls himself away from Dean before anything else happens, before anything else that is untrue gets said by Dean, "I need to read your discharge packet."

 

"Why?" Dean asks incredulously as Castiel begins to look around for the papers in a skittish way.

 

It gets to the point where Castiel begins rummaging through their things, searching for the pile of papers in pure desperation as Dean watches the pitiful scene.

 

"You're saying things that aren’t true now, Dean. I don't know if speaking irrationally is a symptom for something."

 

"I'm not speaking 'irrationally', Cas. I know what I'm saying."

 

"Is denial also a symptom?"

 

"Cas-"

 

Castiel shakes head, starting to panic as he tosses others out of the bags onto the bed, "You're not well, Dean, you don't know what you're saying-"

 

Dean makes Castiel face him once more, and he holds up the packet with a straight face, "It was on the nightstand, Cas..."

 

Castiel takes the papers with blush painting over his cheeks like ink, mumbling, "Oh... thanks."

 

Dean says nothing as Castiel puts more distance between them, going through the papers as he feel himself coming closer and closer to the brink of a breakdown. As he filters through the white sheets, he notices some colored pamphlet that has been stuck in between them. Castiel furrows his brow as he pulls it out from the stack.

 

His hand covers his mouth as he notices what it's for.

 

" _Oh my god-"_

 

Dean comes over to his side, seeing the title on the top of the page, squinting as much as the swelling allows while he reads the title- " _'How To Free Yourself from Your Abusive Partner'_... C-Cas? ... What's this?"

 

Castiel’s knees buckle beneath him, one hand holding his face while the other trembles as it holds a tight vice on the pamphlet, and he sobs- “ _Oh god, oh god, oh god-”_

 

“Cas?” Dean kneels down beside Castiel, his hands lingering a few centimeters away from Castiel’s form, as if they want to offer comfort but are unsure if it’s wanted.

 

“I’m just like _him-”_ Castiel sobs, tucking his knees into his chest- “god, they think I fucking _abuse_ you!”

 

Dean’s hand gently pulls away the one covering Castiel’s face- the one hiding himself from Dean- “Cas… Y-You don’t abuse me-”

 

“But I hit you! I hurt you on purpose!” Castiel argues, tears streaming over his cheeks, “I was mad and I wanted you to know it- I wanted you to feel just how hurt I was- and punched you in the face and gave you a concussion! I turned into _Balthazar!”_

 

Dean tries to console Castiel now, making shushing noises as best as he can with the damage that Castiel’s done to his face and mouth, “C-Cas, I'm okay, you didn't hurt me-"

 

"How do you know!?" Castiel snaps, "You can’t even fucking remember what happened!"

 

Dean looks at Castiel with what the man assumes is pity- because really- how fucking bad would it be if he looked in a mirror right now?

 

“I know that you  w-wouldn’t hurt me like that…”

 

“I just told you that I did this to you, yet you defend me…” Castiel says with venom, and he shakes his head, looking towards his legs that are sprawled over the motel floor.

 

Dean takes a moment to reply, and Castiel is wondering if it’s from the result of his anger getting the best of him- “I know that you’re upset and scared, and you don’t know where to go or who to turn to… You’re just d-dealing with things.”

 

“Yeah, well… ‘dealing with things’ shouldn’t mean that I should fucking clock you in the face.”

 

“Why did you do that?” Dean asks seriously, though he doesn’t sound angry, “Wait- I made you mad, didn’t I?”

 

Castiel doesn’t look up, letting his head hang in shame as he murmurs his reply, “We were fighting, yes…”

 

Dean takes this into account apparently, because he sits in front of Castiel like a kindergartener would sit around their teacher at story time, “What was it over?”

 

“Dean-”

 

“I wanna know what I did… or said…” Dean says quietly, “I remember that you’ve never liked g-getting violent…”

 

Castiel doesn’t say anything, and he just lays there while Dean stares at him. He waits a few more moments, as if he expected Castiel to speak somewhere within the silence- ha, wishful thinking, there- but he ends up speaking himself.

 

“I said that I regretted us.”

 

Castiel’s head snaps up so he can stare at Dean. His expression forms into a partial grimace, noticing the damage he caused to Dean’s face. Castiel stares at the other man, the one who is zoned in on his thoughts as he stares at the floor.

 

“I said that I never wanted us to happen- that I wished I never met you…”

 

Castiel can’t say anything. He doesn’t think his voice will be strong enough to not break on him.

 

Suddenly, Dean looks at him, and his expression is one of shock- “Oh my god-”

 

“Dean, _please…_ ” Castiel’s voice wavers on the last syllable, threatening him with the possibility of even more tears and pathetic breakdowns.

 

“I’m such a d-dick…”

 

“No you’re not-”

 

“I got mad at you because you I t-thought you were going back to Balthazar after all that he did to you…”

 

Castiel just breathes, because he doesn’t think he can manage anything else without crying as Dean shuffles closer.

 

“I thought you were just going to let yourself g-get hurt again, and I wouldn’t be there to fix what he did this time… I thought you were going to let him hit you when I know you want to hit him back, but you won’t let yourself because you aren’t a violent person. I thought you were just going to go back and let everything get shitty for yourself again, and that you wouldn’t d-do anything about it.”

 

As his throat tightens- causing his breath to hitch before it even hits his lungs- Castiel realizes that not uttering a syllable will not prevent him from falling apart.

 

In fact- it’s what breaks him.

 

Suddenly, Castiel’s eyes are blurred and his lungs ache. Swallowing feels complex and painful, as though Castiel’s emotions triggered an allergic reaction or something, and his throat is swelling up as a result.

 

“Cas-”

 

Castiel sobs harder, his hands coming up to hold his face, to try and wipe away the tears or put them back in his eyes so they can stay where they’re supposed to be. Instead, he finds the efforts futile, and it only worsens and gives him hiccups.

 

Before Castiel can do anything else, he feels his hands get pulled away from his face once more, and Dean’s breath ghosts over his skin.

 

“W-What are you d-doing?” Castiel stutters, his exhales too ragged for him to even think about speaking normally.

 

“I’m gonna make you feel loved.”

 

Castiel shakes his head, “D-Dean, please-”

 

“No, Cas.” he says seriously, “You probably think that no one cares, or that _I_ don’t care, but that’s not true, okay? I will kiss the doubt out of you if I have to-”

 

Castiel’s lips part for a loud sob that cuts Dean off, and his eyes shut tightly, “God dammit, Dean!”

 

He doesn’t say anything.

 

“Can’t you see I’m fucking struggling!” Castiel cries brokenly, his voice as clear as his vision is around the tears, “Can’t you see that I’m wondering about if I should wake up in the morning next to someone or by myself!? Can’t you see that I’m trying to just figure out my fucking life when I may not even have one!?”

 

Dean remains silent.

 

“God- I was ready to move on, Dean! I was ready to forget you! I was ready to try and find some place that I belonged that didn’t have you in it! And it was so _hard!_ It took me so long to find something or someone who didn’t remind me of you! Whether it be a single freckle on their face, or a blonde hair, or green eyes- god dammit, even the smell of fucking _car grease-_ I would fucking think of you! And it hurt! It hurt so fucking badly because I was trying to forget- I was trying to remove you from my head and my heart, and no matter how hard I tried you just stayed there, like you burrowed under my skin and just took everything over! So when I left you, I felt so fucking lost because I was trying to find anything that _wasn’t_ a reminder, and I felt like giving up because no one was you and it wasn’t good enough! _Nothing_ was!”

 

“Cas…” Castiel feels Dean rest their foreheads together, and the other man’s exhale puffs over his chapped lips, “I missed you so fucking much…”

 

“Why do you have to make it so _hard?”_ Castiel whispers shakily, “Why do you have to make it all complicated when it shouldn’t be? I should just be able to get you out of my head, but I _can’t…_ ”

 

Dean’s face somehow gets closer, their lips barely apart as Castiel lets out an anxious breath.

 

“Maybe I should stay there, then…”

 

Dean’s lips press against Castiel’s softly, as if he’s testing to see if Castiel will pull away, but instead, Castiel feels like he’s floating.

 

Dean’s lips feel soft and warm, and Castiel feels something fall into place- as if he got something he didn’t know that was missing back to where it belonged. In slight shock, Castiel’s lips part and Dean takes the opportunity to slip his tongue inside to slide against Castiel’s slowly- as if he’s tasting him, as if he’d forgotten what the sensation felt like. Castiel takes a few more seconds, just basking in the feeling of Dean against him for the first time in _so fucking long_ before he decides to kiss Dean back.

 

Dean groans against Castiel’s mouth, the vibration causing Castiel to take his arms and wrap them around Dean’s shoulders to pull him closer- because holy fuck- Castiel doesn’t know if he can ever let this go again. Their mouths pull apart for a moment, and Dean just sighs happily as they rest their foreheads together again. For a few moments, all that fills their ears is their heavy breathing and the sound of their hearts racing with blood rushing through veins.

 

“Do you- ? …” Dean trails off, but Castiel knows what he’s asking without him having to actually voice it- he always could.

 

Castiel manages a small nod, and he can feel the large smile that Dean has as it presses against his neck.

 

“Oh god, _Dean…_ ” Castiel moans as Dean’s lips make feather-like touches across the other man’s quickly heating flesh, knowing how it caused him to come undone at the seams.

 

Dean chuckles against Castiel’s neck, pressing a long kiss into it before pulling back and whispering, “Where do you want to do this?”

 

“B-Bed…” Castiel answers, his body nearly thrumming from adrenaline.

 

Dean practically lifts Castiel up onto the motel bed without so much as a warning, and Castiel yelps at that. Dean, of course, chuckles at Castiel and begins to help him work his shirt off.

 

“Your wounds aren’t g-gonna bother you, are they?”

 

Castiel thinks about it for a moment, “I- I don’t know if they will.”

 

“I’ll just lay on the mattress then and you can just be on top of me.” Dean supplies, and the mental image of himself lying on top of Dean while he takes the other man in causes a flush to spread out over Castiel’s cheeks.

 

Castiel has to clear his throat for a second, and he doesn’t have to be looking at Dean to know he’s smirking- “Oh, thanks…”

 

Dean manages to get the fabric off of Castiel’s back without much of a fuss, planting kisses all over Castiel’s jawline and neck as he does so.

 

“D-Dean…” Castiel manages quietly, his exhale passing over his bottom lip as Dean brings a hand up to the side of his face.

 

“I’ve missed this,” Dean whispers, his forehead resting gently along Castiel’s, “god- I fucking missed _you_ so much…”

 

Castiel lets his mouth ghost over Dean’s for a moment, feeling the split in the other’s lip as he does so, and he tries not to wince when he knows he put it there, “I know you have…”

 

“Nothing ever worked, no one else ever clicked…” Dean murmurs as he begins to kiss the side of Castiel’s face, “I’ve been so lost since you left…”

 

Castiel remains quiet, finding some tears working their way out of his eyes to roll down the expanse of his cheeks.

 

“Don’t cry, baby-” Dean pulls back a few centimeters, eyeing the droplets trailing down Castiel’s cheeks, “please don’t cry.”

 

“C-Can’t help it…” Castiel croaks, his chin falling to his chest.

 

Dean wipes away a tear, and when Castiel looks up at him, the man looks utterly broken at the tears falling over his face.

 

“J-Just ignore it,” Castiel pulls Dean a little closer, “I want this- dear god- I fucking _need_ it…”

 

Dean nods, though he looks solemn as he places himself on top of the mattress while he positions Castiel into his lap, “I want to be making you f-feel good, not fragile.”

 

“You still have your concussion, Dean.” Castiel points out, “Maybe this will position will make it easier on you.”

 

“I just don’t want you to make your back worse…” Dean murmurs, his fingers trailing over Castiel’s shoulders to rub along the rough edges of gauze and bandages softly, “I wanted to make things up to you by making this all about you…”

 

Castiel shakes his head slowly, “It seems like we’re not getting anything we want.”

 

Dean just looks away, and Castiel can see how much he’s hurting.

 

“Come here…” Dean turns towards Castiel then, and he leans up on his elbows, “Sit up against the headboard.”

 

Dean does as he is told, and Castiel shifts as he straddles the other man’s lap, “Cas?”

 

“We’re gonna go slow, since we’re both hurt, okay? If you feel like stopping or your head hurts or if you even feel ill, you tell me immediately, and I’ll stop.”

 

“Okay, Cas.”

 

Castiel nods once, moving forward on his knees so he can remove his boxers and sweats, and all the while, Dean stares at the flesh that appears.

 

“Let me help…” Dean whispers, moving the cloth away from Castiel’s body slowly to see the array of dark purple and an angry red- “He… Balthazar, he…”

 

Castiel hangs his head, biting his bottom lip, “I never told him no-”

 

“He would’ve beat you if you did.” Dean counters, and Castiel knows it’s true.

 

“There wasn’t much I could do…”

 

Dean’s fingers come up to stall a few centimeters away from Castiel’s hips, fearful of touching the bruises, “Did he do this to you right before I showed up?”

 

“The night before, yes… He was angry at me for not telling him that I was still married to you until then… I thought- I thought if I could push it off long enough, I wouldn’t have to get married to him…” Castiel whispers.

 

Dean looks purely angered- “Cas, what else does he do?”

 

“He videotapes us, usually…” Castiel feels Dean go rigid at the admission, “I don’t want him to, but… he does."

 

“I wasn’t sure if you would come or not…” Castiel admits, avoiding eye contact with Dean, “He also checks to see who I call. It would’ve just made things ten times worse.”

 

Dean curses under his breath, “Did you ever try telling anyone, Cas? Did you ever try begging for help or something?”

 

Castiel shrugs, his voice bitter, “Who would’ve believed me? Most of his best friends are cops, but I wouldn’t know if they were in his pocket or not. Either way, I know that he has them fooled.”

 

“Cas-”

 

“I don’t want to talk about him…” Castiel whispers, feeling like he’s about to start crying all over again.

 

“What do you want, then?”

 

“You.” Dean’s eyes widen in some surprise as Castiel leans against him, removing the rest of his clothes, “I want you…”

 

Dean kisses Castiel hard, but pulls back a few seconds later, “We’re gonna talk about it eventually, Cas. You know that, right?”

 

“Yeah, I do…” however, to get his point across, Castiel rolls his hips- “Though I’ve got some more pressing matters on my mind.”

 

Dean chuckles softly but doesn’t argue. Instead, he pulls Castiel closer to him, placing his lips against the skin that composes Castiel’s neck. There are faint bruises and marks that darken the expanse of flesh, and Dean kisses every single one of them gently, as if his lips can right the wrongs of another man by touch alone. Castiel allows Dean to continue to kiss his wounds and scars, feeling his chest tighten with every peck of soft lips against his flesh, because this is far too intimate than Castiel had expected for this to be.

 

He knew it was going to hurt in some ways, especially since it’s been so long since Castiel has had this kind of contact with Dean. Normally, Castiel would disagree to this sort of thing- would’ve told Dean to go spend some time with himself in the shower if he was in that sort of mood- but he hasn’t been touched in such a caring way in so long.

 

Balthazar was always rough and unkind. He didn’t care if Castiel enjoyed himself, he didn’t care if his fingertips left marks and bruises, and he certainly didn’t care if Castiel wanted it or not. Castiel had it scared into him that “no” wasn’t an answer, that there were no ways out. He felt stuck, drained, but most of all used.

 

“You think too much…” Dean informs him with another drag of his lips against Castiel’s damaged skin.

 

Castiel doesn’t reply- he’s too emotionally out of it to try and voice anything with words.

 

“I thought about you a lot…” Dean begins, as if he’ll fill the silence between them himself, “Sometimes I couldn’t even get out bed in the morning, especially in the beginning. I was a mess, Cas…”

 

Castiel just responds by leaning onto Dean, letting his chest lay flush against the other man’s as he is touched.

 

“I couldn’t stop drinking, and I smoked a lot of cigarettes away. I’ve probably got more ash in my lungs than air.” Dean gives an empty chuckle, letting his hands follow the curve of Castiel’s spine through the gauze, “I stopped talking to people for a little while, too. I just locked myself in a motel room for two weeks and didn’t come out. Jo had to come kick down the door and drag me away from there to get me out… She always wondered what happened to me…”

 

Castiel feels guilt lay over his shoulders as Dean’s fingertips graze over them, “M’ sorry…”

 

“Yeah,” Dean murmurs, coming forward and pecking Castiel’s lips with his own, “I am, too…”

 

Dean kisses him again, except this time, he intends intendeds to linger like an aftertaste. Castiel lets Dean’s tongue past his lips without much resistance. A part of him wonders if he’ll ever get to do this again.

 

However, before Castiel can memorize the feeling, Dean pulls away to chuckle at him.

 

“What is it?”

 

“Your mouth still tastes like peppermint…” Dean murmurs, and the corners of his mouth turn upward, “Like toothpaste.”

 

Castiel rolls his eyes lightly, “I’ve never stopped brushing my teeth, Dean.”

 

The other man snorts, “Cas, I know that, it’s just… sentimental.”

 

“Please don’t tell me that we’re secretly in a Crest commercial-”

 

Dean laughs, actually _laughs,_ and Castiel blinks at him in shock. Out of all the time that he knew Dean, he had never heard him actually laugh.

 

“No, Cas. We’re not advertising some damn tube of Crest,” Dean goes back to focusing on Castiel’s neck, “but I’m sure they would like a letter from us about it.”

 

Castiel is about to retort with something until Dean licks a line up his throat, and after that, words are a foreign thing to Castiel.

 

His movements are slow- calculated. It’s as if Dean knows in what way Castiel’s nerves will respond to his touches, as if he’s memorized the sensitive patches of skin, as if he knew every juncture and curve of flesh that Castiel’s body has. Dean’s has had enough experience with Castiel in this way that his movements should be practically instinct. Dean’s jaw brushes against Castiel’s collarbone, and Dean slides the edge of Castiel’s tee down to rest further on his shoulder, his stubble scraping against Castiel’s flesh.

 

“I thought about this too,” Dean speaks with some reverence, as if Castiel’s body is an old friend and this was their childhood game- playing over flesh and tendons like string, following pulse points like a drum’s rhythm, causing muscles to twitch together like a chorus- an overall physical symphony composed of skin and bone and sensation, performed by those who knew how to make love to someone as if they were playing an instrument, “I thought about taking it slow, makin’ you feel good…”

 

Castiel’s breath hitches in his throat, and Dean chuckles against his skin with a warm soft of affection. Dean’s always never been one for words, really. But what what he lacked in foreign meaning and usage of syllables, he made up for in the language of fingertips and lips. He could convey a simple message of love, of adoration, by simply kissing into Castiel’s navy veins on his wrist- by tracing unknown constellations from the goosebumps that arose on Castiel’s flesh- by mapping out Castiel’s form, as though it was a land or road that hadn’t been discovered, by using the memory of his body’s features. Dean didn’t need to speak, and he definitely didn’t need directions or instructions, either; because even after all this time, all of the bullshit that they both went through, Dean could never forget Castiel or how his body was built, cell by miniscule cell. He’s done too much of this to ever lose the information that he had so carefully catalogued.

 

“God, Cas-” Dean croaks, involuntarily causing Castiel to shiver from the desperate sound in his voice- “do you know how long I’ve wanted to just fucking _touch_ you again?”

 

Castiel holds onto Dean’s arms tightly, grounding himself before this gets to be too much, “No… Tell me…”

 

“ _Five god damn years._ ” he hisses into Castiel’s ear, and it causes the air to become compact and heavy around them, “I hurt for so long because of that- because you weren’t there and I didn’t know what to do with myself for the longest time. You were just… gone.”

 

“I was lost, too…” Castiel murmurs back, kissing Dean on his jawline, trying to attempt a kiss that is as sincere and affectionate as Dean’s was for him.

 

Dean snorts weakly, his hands resting at the small of Castiel’s back, “We’re idiots, you know that?”

 

“I’m far too aware. I mean, we did just joke about being in a toothpaste commercial.”

 

“No, Cas, I’m being serious.”

 

Castiel furrows his brow to show his confusion, “Yeah, and so am I-”

 

“No, I’m talking about us when it came to us.”

 

“Now you _sound_ like an idiot.”

 

Dean huffs a breath and pulls Castiel closer, “Just shut up and listen, okay?”

 

Castiel nods, weary of where this is going.

 

“I’m talking about that night when everything fell through, Cas.”

 

Castiel pulls back an inch, “Please, Dean… I don’t want to bring that up right now-”

 

“I know you don’t, and I understand why, I really do. But there’s just certain things I have to say to you before I fucking implode here or something…” Dean waits for a response from Castiel, and when he doesn’t get one, he goes on with whatever he was saying beforehand, “I fucked up big time, okay? I don’t want to just sit here and go through with this pretending that nothing changed or that I’m not at fault for some of this shit storm that we’ve found ourselves in. I just want to tell you I’m sorry.”

 

“I know you are. You’ve told me multiple times, Dean.”

 

Dean looks frustrated, as if this isn’t coming out the way he wants it to or Cas isn’t understanding this correctly, “I know, but- this just doesn’t feel right to me. I don’t think I can do much else without getting this off of my chest.”

 

“Then say it.”

 

Dean sighs, “I- I still love you, Cas, like- a lot. I know that you’ve been through and hell and back, and that recently love hasn’t gotten you anything but a few good hits, but- … I want us to fix things. I want us to be _us_ again.”

 

Castiel takes a deep breath, smelling Dean’s aftershave as it lingers on his skin, “I know you do.”

 

Dean pushes Castiel off of him enough where they are eye to eye, and Dean stares at Castiel with some desperate hope in his expression, “You want us again too, don’t you?”

 

Castiel lingers on his answer, but it seems like that’s enough for Dean.

 

“I… I understand, Cas-”

 

Dean begins to move, but the man on top of him grabs his arm and stops him.

 

“Let me think about it,” Castiel blurts without thinking, and he realizes that he means it in some way, “I just need to figure things out, first. Then I can give you an answer.”

 

“How long will that take?”

 

Castiel bites his bottom lip, thinking for a moment, “I- I don’t know… You know that I hate making big decisions like this, Dean…”

 

Dean sighs, looking almost out of place, “Just make up your mind soon. It hurts to be just stuck like this- lingering for one word that I may never hear from you. Don’t deny it. You know that you would keep quiet and never give me an answer…” Castiel stays silent because he knows that he _would_ do such a thing, and Dean shakes his head, “I won’t wait forever for nothing, Cas…”

 

Castiel knows that if he were in the same situation, that he would do the same thing if he were pinning over someone who just couldn’t make a definite decision. However, it doesn’t stop the hurt that he feels at the thought of Dean giving up on him because he’s afraid of falling in love again.

 

Balthazar has made Castiel fear commitment. He’s installed some sort of virus into Castiel’s brain that had changed all of the settings to his specifications. Castiel doesn’t try to be spontaneous in bed anymore, considering Balthazar forced Castiel to lie back and take every second and sensation in a fearful stride. He doesn’t dare try to find anyone else, or has been trained not to like a dog whose snout was hit too many times for trying to do so. It was as if Balthazar had smothered any of the fire that Castiel used to have with harsh words and dangerous fists, ones that hit with so much force that their knuckles would darken and pop from their own exertion. Castiel has suffered from this kind of possessive and controlling program of Balthazar’s for at least four or three years now, and its “morals” are embedded in Castiel’s skin as scars and bruises, and they linger in his brain as the pain and words that he remembers all too well.

 

For Castiel, the thought of “love” means looking at the mirror and hating himself for choosing a man who shows him the exact opposite of the word. He thinks of kisses as painful bites, as lingering touches as festering wounds, and hushed promises as shouted insults. For the past couple of years, Castiel’s definitions for love and its synonyms have become skewed by one man who has been anything _but_ a kind lover.

 

However, this could be Castiel’s last chance to experience what love actually feels like- and he finds himself so desperate that he considers begging Dean. Instead, he just collects his composure for a few moments and looks at the man underneath him. Dean stares back with something behind those irises that he sometimes misses profoundly, and Castiel finds himself starved for affection, especially if this is more than likely his last time to receive it.

 

“Can I kiss you?” Castiel blurts in a hushed whisper, because he’s at least going to have tonight to remember if he doesn’t ever answer Dean with a ‘yes’.

 

Dean nods softly, and as soon as their lips meet, Castiel tries to remember what they feel like just in case he won’t ever feel them again. After a few seconds, Castiel finds himself getting lost in the intimate feeling of Dean Winchester before he loses it, and him, for good.

 

 

**-X-**

 

**- _{September 17th, 2009}_ \- **

 

Castiel has a happy smile on his face today, a bounce in his step, and a hickey hidden underneath the collar of his shirt as he goes to work. It’s a good thing that Castiel has come to a conclusion now that his and Dean’s one year anniversary is tomorrow, because Castiel is ready to fully commit to his relationship with Dean as he walks into his boss’ office.

 

He’s quitting. For good.

 

Sure- everyone has some issue with their job, whether it be something big or something small- but Castiel is a little sick of having to raid someone’s personal information for greedy superiors who expect nothing but results. Especially when he was promoted on a whim after people left or retired, and his boss found himself short of willing hands. That is, until he forced Castiel to become a pair of them.

 

Everything is on a line with this job- his life, his security, his domestic bliss with Dean. Leaving this place could cripple him if it wanted to, and he doesn’t want to start out his new life with two left feet.

 

“Ah, Castiel.” Michael sets his papers aside on his desk, “Tell me, what would your visit bring me today?”

 

Castiel steps forward a few more inches, weary of the man who sits before him, all clean cut and professional- “I… I want to leave.”

 

Michael looks up, and his eyes are calculating.

 

“I understand if there’s some issues with that, but-”

 

“I know why you want to leave.” Michael interrupts, causing Castiel to shut his mouth abruptly as his heart tries to beat its way into his throat- “Dean Winchester, right?”

 

Castiel is about to ask how Michael knows of Dean when he places a thick, heavy folder on the edge of his desk- a paperclip holding a picture of Dean on its edge.

 

“H-How-”

 

“I am not blind, Castiel. I know how you and your precious Winchester reformed ties at your reunion. Your one year anniversary is tomorrow, is it not?”

 

Castiel is too frightened and shocked to say anything.

 

Michael gives a level smile, his brown- almost black- irises training on the hitches in the other man’s breath, “Now that I’ve gotten your attention, I’d like to make a deal with you.”

 

“D-Deal?”

 

Michael nods, seemingly unbothered by how he’s completely uprooted Castiel’s approach as though it were merely a weed in his garden, and his lips stretch further, “Yes, Castiel. I’m a businessman at heart, so it should be of no surprise to you that I want one last favor before you leave.”

 

Castiel watches as he taps the folder on Dean as an unsaid threat, “W-What do you want?”

 

“You’ve given us a lot in the past couple of years.” Michael begins, “You were a good technician, helped us gain a lot of ground to cover on our ‘clients’. I know that recently your promotion has taken an… unexpected, toll- but I can assure you that if you do this one thing, then I’ll let you go willingly. No harm done- no blackmail.”

 

Castiel eyes Dean’s picture, one where he’s walking down the street to their small apartment, “I’ll do it… Just- don’t do anything to Dean. Please.”

 

“That’s the thing. My little favor here is all centered around your husband.” Michael opens up Dean’s folder as Castiel notices the hundreds of papers contained within it- “I want you to read this, Castiel.”

 

“W-Why?” Castiel takes a small step backwards out of fear.

 

Michael’s grin turns almost predatory as he notices his intimidation tactic is working on Castiel, and he taps the first page with his pointer finger, “You’ll find out just exactly who your beloved husband really is. The true man that you’ve decided to give everything up for. Tell me, Castiel, how would you deal with knowing that you just promised yourself to a murderer?”

 

Castiel’s eyes widen, his inhale stalling as his voice whispers- “No…”

 

“Oh yes, Castiel. Dean’s hands aren’t as clean as you’ve always thought them to be.” Michael chuckles lightly, “Let me guess… Car mechanic? Is that his job- or should I say cover?”

 

“You’re lying-”

 

“Or am I?” Michael taunts, “Read this for yourself, Castiel. I know that you’re feeling doubt, even before you stepped into my office.”

 

Castiel pales at the line, knowing that it’s true. He’s always wondered why Dean spent so long cooped up at the garage, or why he would come home clean and showered when the only thing the garage had was a toilet and sink. Sometimes, Dean would even come home with small items that Castiel has never seen before- like a watch, or some necklace. It didn’t happen as often as the others, but it was common enough for it to raise an alarm in Castiel’s mind.

 

“Ah, there it is- the seed of doubt has just finally begun sprouting.”

 

Castiel shakes his head and grits out, “I know who Dean is…”

 

Michael looks unimpressed with Castiel’s attempts to thwart him- “Castiel, you’ve never given me the implication that you have ever been naive or gullible. Don’t start now.”

 

“I’m not reading that folder…”

 

“Why?” Michael sits back in his chair as though this kind of situation relaxes him- “Are you afraid of what you might find?”

 

Castiel shakes his head, “No- because I know it’s nothing but lies…”

 

Michael sighs then, steepling his hands together as he thinks, his lips pursed, “Castiel, why do you have to be so stubborn? You’re making this way too complicated.”

 

Castiel says nothing.

 

“Fine, if you don’t want to read the folder, then I have one last option for you before our contract is terminated. Shame though, your computer skills are unparalleled.”

 

“Stop dancing around this, Michael.” Castiel hisses angrily.

 

The other man laughs heartily, “Hurt, are we? So am I- well, not really. Either way, I just have a few questions to ask of you, and then we can get down to the heart of it.”

 

Castiel sighs, “Fine…”

 

“Why did you agree to all of this, Castiel?” Michael tilts his head, “I can read most people- can understand what motivates them from everyday actions to their tough decisions- but you? I’m in the dark, and I would very much appreciate it if you shed some light on the subject.”

 

“I was fresh out of high school. I had no college ideas or any criteria for a job. I didn’t know what I wanted to do with or how to live my life. You offered me a door, so I stepped through it since I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

 

Michael seems even more confused than before, “But you’re intelligent and have a way with technology. I’m positive you had offers from colleges, right?”

 

Castiel shakes his head, “I told you- I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

 

“No offers, really?” Michael seems actually surprised- probably the only genuine thing about him at the moment, honestly- “I have to say that is extremely surprising for someone as unique as you.”

 

“Being unique doesn’t really get you anywhere in life. In fact, I’ve noticed that it just makes things a little harder than before.”

 

“Doesn’t everything?” Michael puts his legs up on his desk, clapping his hands together, “Now, next question… Why are you leaving us for Dean Winchester if we are your only ‘open door’?”

 

Castiel takes a deep breath, keeping his voice level even though he wants to yell, scream, or cry foul- “Because I love him.”

 

Michael seems unsatisfied with his answer.

 

“I know that it sounds stupid, or it’s unreasonable of me to only have that as my reasoning for turning things in my life around- but it’s so much more than just those three words, Michael. Because I love him, I want to spend the rest of my life with him in peace- because I love him, I’m content and happy in the morning when he’s by my side- because I love him, I willing to throw all of this away because he’s become my next open door. I’m more than willing to leave through yours so I can go be with him.”

 

“He’s this special to you because- ? …” Michael waves his hand slowly in the air, waiting for Castiel to fill in the blank.

 

“Because I love him.” Castiel says honestly, a sincere tone littering throughout his voice- “That is more than enough.”

 

Michael smiles, “Or is it? You seem to be forgetting that love isn’t always the perfect thing that people make it out to be. There’s heartbreak, there’s pain, there’s betrayal. Quit being so obtuse and open your eyes- then you’ll see the truth in this situation.”

 

Castiel shakes his head, “I already see the truth.”

 

Michael stands up then, sighing and moving towards his window. They’re currently several stories up in their building, so there is distance and height within the view that the window offers. Birds fly past the buildings that have replaced trees, cars move in herds on the asphalt that has replaced the wild grass. Michael puts his hands behind his back, and Castiel can see his impassive expression faintly in his reflection on the pane of glass before him.

 

“Tell me, Castiel… If a blind man told you this view was gorgeous, would you believe him?”

 

Castiel waits a second, wondering why Michael has changed up the conversation right at the climax of it- “I guess I wouldn’t.”

 

“And why is that?” Michael sweeps one arm out to his side, “It’s right in front of him, isn’t it?”

 

“Someone who is blind can’t see.” Castiel answers simply- “Michael, why are you-”

 

Michael turns to him then, expression to that of stone, and he eyes Castiel coldly- “Castiel, I suppose you are more impaired than I thought you were to be. For a man to fool you so easily- for him to just crawl under your skin and embed himself in there because you believe in a silly thing such as love.”

 

Castiel stiffens, watching Michael carefully as he walks forwards.

 

“In this situation, you are the one who cannot see…” he nears Castiel with a few more calculated and slower steps, his face now merely inches from Castiel’s, “You are a man who claims that his view on this situation is that of one centered around fact, but you are seemingly forgetting that you are blind to the truth.”

 

Castiel shakes his head, “Michael, I know Dean-”

 

“Do you? Honestly?” Michael taunts with a level voice, an eyebrow raising in disbelief, “Have you ever heard of an illusion, Castiel? A trick on your senses?”

 

“Of course I have, but I don’t-”

 

Michael gives Castiel a calculated look, and it causes the other man’s question to stall and fall into silence- “I think you were so blinded by the view, Castiel, so enraptured in the promise of better things that are outside of where you are now, that you have seemingly missed one key factor.”

 

Castiel swallows uneasily, “And that is?”

 

“Dean Winchester never offered you a ‘new door’, he never offered you anything- well, nothing compared to being on the top here. All he gave you was a view- one filled with lies and empty promises- one where it was supposed to look spectacular enough to fool you into walking away from your only exit. Because be honest with me, Castiel… When does someone ever leave the top floor of a building through a window?”

 

Castiel stares at him, eyes wide.

 

Michael seems pleased with Castiel’s reaction, a smile finally working its way onto his once lax features- “Now that we’ve gotten all of that out of the way, I’d like to fill in my last request since you won’t listen to me and read the facts about your husband.”

 

Castiel remains still, his heart hammering against his ribs in fear.

 

“I want one more job from you- one more removal.” Michael leaves Castiel’s personal space, “Just one more, and I will let you climb out of that window like the idiot that you are.”

 

“Fine, I’ll do it…” Castiel’s head hangs heavily against his chest, “Just promise me that you won’t hurt Dean…”

 

When Castiel looks up to Michael, he’s grinning devilishly, “Of course _I_ wouldn’t hurt him. Besides, out of all the years you’ve known me, when have I ever gotten _my_ hands dirty?”

 

 

 

 

 

 


	6. I Wish This Would Be Over Now

 

 

  


**-** _{ **Present** } _ -

  


Cas is snoring as he rests on top of Dean’s chest. He had fallen asleep right after he had climaxed, and Dean has been watching over him ever since. His fingers run through Cas’ ruffled hair, and a lazily grin spreads over his lips.

 

He missed this- the domestic bliss that he had been lacking for years- the only feeling he could ever achieve if Cas were present. It’s a nice thing to feel after having so many years of constantly feeling lost or cheated.

 

It’s as if some gaping hole inside of his body had been filled- as if something had intertwined itself back into the very fiber of his being. This feeling is like that of one whenever you relax on the couch with a good cup of tea, or whenever you find a book that’s pages are worn from time and fingertips. It’s the simple little pleasures- the ones that define you.

 

Cas dozes on unknowingly, lax and seemingly content. Dean is happy that Cas doesn’t look as stressed or fearful as he used to; that he’s comfortable enough to get intimate with Dean in what felt like forever. As seconds pass by in what seems like a lifetime, Dean stares at Castiel and believes that he can never have another moment like this again.

 

However, as some phone blares an unfamiliar ringtone, Dean has to realize that even all things good must come to an end.

 

“D-Dean?” Cas drowsily lifts his head off of Dean’s chest, seemingly confused- that is, until he realizes that there’s a phone ringing- “ _Shit!”_

 

Dean can’t help but stare at the exposed flesh that is before him as Cas fumbles off of his chest, and Dean watches as Cas races to his previously discarded sweats with haste.

 

“Please don’t be him,” Cas chants, “ _please_ don’t be him-”

 

Dean begins to move off of the bed then as concern begins to find itself a home, evicting the good buzz that Dean had in the process, “You’ve had your phone on you this whole time?”

 

All of this is giving him a headache.

 

“Balthazar makes me carry it wherever I go no matter what. If I don’t, he…” Cas trails off, and Dean feels anger swell up in his chest- especially when Cas eyes the screen of his phone and his expression falls- “I, uh, I’ve got to take this call, Dean.”

 

Dean is about to ask who it is when Cas walks into the bathroom and shuts the door. Despite his best efforts at hiding the conversation, he seems to have forgotten that motel walls aren’t too thick.

 

“Balthazar, I know you’re mad at me-” Cas is cut off, and Dean can hear the prick that calls himself Cas’ lover screaming through the phone.

 

Dean moves closer to the bathroom as the electronic voice picks up even more volume, and Dean finds his headache forgotten as he puts on a pair of boxers and listens.

 

“Yes, I know you’re mad at me, but just- yes, I _know-_ I can’t do that.”

 

Dean wonders what Balthazar is saying, and his teeth grit together at the ideas that appear in his mind.

 

“You had a gun pointed at me.” Cas argues, some anger in his voice, and Dean feels pride swell in his chest for Cas- “No, Dean hasn’t hurt me. Unlike you, he never would get physical with me- well, unlike last night. Yes, Balthazar, I had sex with Dean. Surprise.”

 

‘ _Insert confetti here._ ’ Dean thinks.

 

Dean has to reel back his laughter as Cas rips Balthazar a new one by those retorts.

 

“Yes, he is better at it and he’s also got about two inches on you. Yes, Balthazar, two inches more when he’s flaccid. No, I won’t tell you how much when it’s erect because I know you’d become self-conscious with your little dick.” Dean grabs a pillow and bites into it to retain himself and to keep his ability to hear Cas piss Balthazar off with little effort, “No, I think most of your penis went into your personality.”

 

Dean muffles himself with fabric, laughing heavily into the cloth as Cas groans.

 

“I can hear you getting the tape measurer. Let me guess, three and a half inches.” there’s a pause, “Oh, _just_ three? Huh, it’s almost as long as my pinky finger.”

 

Dean inhales a deep breath of air as Cas keeps insulting Balthazar like he’s held back for so long- probably has.

 

“I’d rather ride my _own_ fingers, Balthazar. They’re bigger and longer anyways… Or I could just ask Dean for some help.”

  


Dean’s mouth gapes.

  


“He’s better at it than you. How many? Twice, after some touching and prep. No, ten minutes _in between,_ but that’s because he had a concussion and I was sore.” Dean tries to think what that means, but Cas answers that with another retort, “Balthazar, it took you three hours once to get me off.”

  


Dean howls into the pillow, hoping that it isn’t too loud- “Oh my god, _three hours?”_

  


“Are you kidding?” Cas scoffs, “It takes me fifteen minutes by myself when I’m tired. You should know my average times, considering that I end up having to do it whenever you try.”

  


If Dean doesn’t die from this, he shall be stunned.

  


However, there’s a turn in the conversation- “Y-You didn’t… _Balthazar-”_

  


Dean’s laughter dies quickly, his smile falling to be replaced with an expression of concern as he hears Cas’ breath hitch.

  


“You wouldn’t… Please, _don’t-”_ Cas’ voice breaks, “But-”

  


Dean is about to break the damn bathroom door down when Cas pulls it back, teary eyed and red-faced from what looks like utter mortification.

  


“Cas?”

  


“He-” Cas shakes his head, “I don’t understand.”

  


Dean sets Cas down on the bed, grabbing onto Cas and leading him to the edge of the bed, “Cas, come on, what happened?”

  


“Balthazar, he…” Cas swallows, eyes darting back and forth as he tries to process something, “The videos.”

  


“Videos? …” Dean is lost.

  


Cas takes a deep breath, “The ones he took of us. He- he-”

  


“Oh my god-” Dean instantly tenses up on the bed, “he sent them out, didn’t he?”

  


Cas only nods.

  


“Why would he do that? Is he an idiot?” Dean’s disbelief is evident, but he ends up snorting without humor, “Wait, who am I kidding? We’re talking about Balthazar.”

  


Cas puts his face in his hands, “No, Dean, you don’t understand. People know now- people have seen- _oh god._ ”

  


Dean doesn’t have to be told exactly what are on those videos to know that this is a bad situation for Cas.

  


“Do you even know why he did it?”

  


“I don’t know-” Cas blurts, shaking his head, “he sounded sort of panicky when he said it, but, I don’t know.”

  


Dean bites his bottom lip, and he sees just how lost Cas is, “What are you going to do?”

  


Cas takes a deep, unsteady breath, and he swallows a lump that has seemed to form in his throat, “I don’t know who all received the films, Dean. If I go back to Pontiac…” Cas shakes his head and shivers, “That doesn’t seem like a really good note to come back on.”

  


“So,” Dean clasps his hands together, and he’s unsure of how to exactly proceed, “you’re going to stay with me, then?”

  


“I don’t think so.”

  


Dean looks over to Cas with shock in his gaze, “A-Are you serious?”

  


The other man nods, and he looks fragile as he begins to speak, “Yes, Dean… I am.”

  


“You’re just going to leave? …”

  


“I-” Cas drops his chin to his chest, shaking his head as he lifts his hand to wipe away at his eyes, “I don’t know what I want anymore, Dean. Balthazar has been all I’ve known for the past few years-”

  


Dean tries not to feel cheated in some way, “You know _me-”_

  


“We’ve been apart for five years, and the only reason we even interacted again was for the fact that I needed you to sign divorce forms.”

  


Dean pivots partially towards Cas with his brow furrowed, “But we had sex last night, Cas. Don’t sit here and tell me that circumstance brought and kept us together, because you know that isn’t true in the slightest.”

  


Cas drops his face into his hands, and Dean notices that Cas is sobbing and he’s shaking- “I’m so lost, Dean…”

  


“Come here…” Dean murmurs, and Cas falls into his arms.

  


Dean rubs gentle circles into Cas’ shoulders as the other man keeps his face in the crook of Dean’s neck, and the air around Dean becomes heavy in his lungs.

  


“It’s going to be okay, Cas. You can figure things out, I’m sure of it.”

  


Cas hiccups and inhales roughly, “B-But you don’t understand, D-Dean… All of my friends- my job- shit- _everything_ back in Pontiac is ruined.”

  


“Then stay with me.”

  


Cas pulls back at that suggestion, and he blinks in confusion, “W-What?”

  


“Stay with me, Cas.”

  


“But I _can’t._ ”

  


Dean frowns, “Why not?”

  


Cas closes his eyes, looking as if this situation were too much for him, “Balthazar crossed a line, Dean, a fucking huge one. I just can’t stay here when there’s videos of me out there where-” Cas’ voice breaks, and he’s forced to trail off by unwilling vocal cords and shame.

  


“I understand if there’s hell to go through because of that bastard, but-” Dean grabs onto Cas’ left hand, letting his thumb run over the soft flesh with affection, “I’ll be there with you, every single step of the way. If you stumble or fall, I’ll catch you.”

  


“But the police think that you kidnapped me,” Cas begins, and Dean can already feel Cas’ muscles moving to rip his hand away from Dean’s own, “and I’m positive that they already know about Balthazar’s ‘filming’... They’ll arrest you on the spot, and then ignore me because they’ve seen things that they’ve never wanted to witness.”

  


There’s a pause.

  


“You don’t want me to stay with you, do you?” Dean asks calmly, though he feels like the exact opposite of the word on the inside.

  


“It’s not that-” Cas’ argument dies out, and Dean is too aware as to why.

  


Dean stands then, shaking his head, “You don’t want to stay. It’s the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ bullshit. God, and you got onto me about being cliche.”

  


Cas lifts his head so he can look at Dean, and his eyes are bloodshot, causing the blue of his irises to stand out starkly, “It’s true though, Dean… I’m broken now. I’m trying to heal. Why do you want to be around that?”

  


“Because I love you.” Dean says easily, because the words hold so much truth that if it were with someone else, Dean would be frightened for his devotion and adoration towards them, “I always have, Cas. Every day, every night- I’ve fucking cared about you. You think that I’m just going to stop feeling that way because shit happened?”

  


“We broke up, Dean. We left each other because we _lied._ ”

  


Dean stares at Cas, “Are you implying something, Cas? ‘Cause if you are, you just better come out and say it.”

  


The other man glares back, and a small part of Dean is happy for the fact that Cas hasn’t lost some of his ire, “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

  


“You think that I’m lying to you about caring? What the hell, Cas?”

  


“I don’t know anymore, Dean. It seems like I can’t trust anyone in my life, so I’m sorry if I’m a little hesitant, especially if you were one of those people who decided to go behind my back.”

“Don’t start this up again,” Dean puts a hand out in front of him, his expression stern, “we just put this shit behind us last fucking night. I don’t want to go reopening wounds that we just tried to stitch up.”

  


Cas rolls his eyes, though he looks tired and worn as he does so, “What does it matter, Dean? We’re just going to end up fighting or worse. I mean, I am the one who gave you a concussion yesterday. What makes you think that this-” Cas gestures in between them- “will _ever_ work out? Especially if we’ve already managed to go head to head.”

  


Dean glares, “Don’t make fucking puns, Cas. This shit is serious.”

  


“It was unintended.” Cas counters, and he looks away afterwards, “Just- things are complicated right now, Dean… My life is falling apart right before me, and I don’t know how to pick up all of the pieces and put them back together again. It’s like fixing a piece of broken, stained glass; I need to know where things are supposed belong in my life as though it were some puzzle, and I can fuck everything up if I handle it wrong.”

  


“Then let me help you figure it out,” Dean begins, “we’ll make mistakes along the way, yeah, but dammit, Cas! We’re human. We make mistakes- we’re wrong more than we’re ever right- and we fuck things up! But you’re missing the point here, Cas.”

  


Cas’ shoulders slump, and his tone makes him sound disconnected- almost distant- “And that is?”

  


“Humans can also make changes. We can fix things. We can say that we’re sorry. Sure, some things in life may not have an undo or redo button, but we fucking _try._ We don’t give up and say that things are better off staying broken.”

  


Cas looks up then, “Are you implying something here, Dean Winchester? Because if you are, it would be wise of you to just come out and say it.”

  


Dean swallows, because this is the moment of truth- the climax of whatever the hell this is going on between them, “Cas, I’m saying that… that we can try to fix things between us.”

  


“Why should we?” Cas says with some bitterness, “I’ve already told you that we won’t work out-”

  


“We don’t know that for sure. Like I said, we fuck up, Cas, but we make up for it. Sure, what happened between us was unusual and still shitty, but that doesn’t mean that we can’t try to move past it.”

  


Cas stares, “You want _us_ again?”

  


“I thought that I was making that obvious.” Dean furrows his brow.

  


Cas bites his bottom lip as it begins to tremble, and Dean’s chest tightens at the sight, “After all this time, the bullshit, the things that you and I have done and said to each other, you’re still willing to stay with me?”

  


“Yes.”

Cas has one second of composure before he loses it, and he breaks down into a sobbing mess just as Dean’s lungs finish taking in an anxious breath.

  


“Cas…” Dean moves a step forward, and his outstretched to offer comfort until the other man slaps it away, “Cas-”

  


“No! God fucking dammit, Dean!” Cas rips at his hair and shuts his eyes tightly to try and stop the oncoming wave of tears from falling, “I can’t do this! I can’t fall in love again! I’m scared and I’m terrified and I have to go fix my life because two assholes- including you- ruined it! I was trying so hard, and you keep making me having to start all over! Do you know what that feels like, Dean!? Thinking that maybe you finally have something good in your life only to find that karma, fate, or _whatever_ has struck again because you’re having to pick yourself back up once more for what feels like the millionth time!? It’s a roller coaster, Dean- a really, _really_ shitty one that you can never get off of, and you get so fucking sick and tired of it! Like you’re stuck in some loop of bullshit and disappointment! I’m just trying to sort things out, god dammit!”

  


Dean is too shocked- hell, he doesn’t know what he really is, considering the multitude of things he is feeling at the moment- to truly say anything, so instead, he gapes.

  


Cas looks like he’s about to scream in frustration as he begins to throw his arms out wildly, “All my life I told myself that I was going to be happy! That’s all I ever fucking wanted! I was supposed to wake up in the morning with a smile on my face- not fucking drying tears, healing bruises, or blood! I’ve been getting shit and more shit for the past seven years, and you’re trying to tell me that it doesn’t matter!? That I can ‘fix things’ or ‘make a change’ when I’ve already fucking _tried!?”_

  


“I didn’t mean it like that-”

  


“Yes, you did, Dean! That is what you’ve been ranting on and on to me about! Honestly, the only thing I want to fucking change is the subject!”

  


Dean stays still, and he is struggling to keep his breathing even and his limbs motionless, “Then do it, Cas. Move on.”

  


“What do you think I’ve been trying to do for the past _five years!?”_ Cas snaps, and he is rubbing away at the droplets that roll down his cheeks with a fearful determination, “I got with Balthazar because he was like a promise! He was supposed to be a new beginning- a fresh start- and instead all I get are new scars and shit to deal with! I was supposed to move on from you, Dean, I was supposed to forget you and be happy like I had planned on since I was six! Look where that got me! I’m just- I’m just-”

  


Before Dean can say anything, Cas lets go of one more sob, and his knees give out. He slides down against the end of the motel bed, and he puts his face into his hands as he settles his body down onto the floor.

  


“I’m just broken…”

  


Dean stares. It's all he can manage to do at the moment.

  


Cas keeps on crying, and Dean knows that if Cas were aware that he feels pity for him, the other man will surely make his concussion worse.

  


"You're not broken, Cas-"

  


"Then what am I!?

  


Dean stares at Cas, waiting for a moment so he can answer, “You’re just you, Cas.”

  


Cas glares, and Dean can tell that it’s taking a lot out of him not to roll his eyes, “What’s that supposed to mean, Dean?”

  


“You act as though you’re too broken and that you’re beyond repair. You think that you deserve the shit that Balthazar puts you through because you have personal vendetta against yourself.” Dean shakes his head, “You can’t let these kind of things define you. You’re more than just your past, Cas.”

  


The other man stares, but does nothing else.

  


“I know that I’ve fucked up, and that I hurt you because of it. Balthazar has been a dick too, and he hurt you as well. That’s just physical things, Cas, maybe even a little emotional- but on the inside, right here-” Dean pats the flesh over his rib cage tentatively, “is what defines someone.”

  


Cas remains silent.

  


Dean takes a step forward, “My mom used to tell me that we give each other parts of our hearts when we love someone. You remember when we got together that night? You looked so fucking amazing across that gym floor, Cas…” blue eyes stare at Dean, their redness and watery appearance threatening Dean with another onslaught of tears, “I’ve loved you for so long now, and that’s what defines me. You wanna know why?”

  


Dean kneels down to where he’s level with Cas, and the other man is already crying as they see eye to eye, but he does not utter a word. Instead, Cas uses his tear-reddened eyes to plead Dean to answer the question.

  


“Castiel Novak, I ran into you my freshman year of high school in 1994, and I haven’t been able to forget you since. No matter what I did- no matter who I met- you would always be there whether I intended for you to be or not. I’d fall asleep to the thought of your damn blue eyes and your messy black hair-” Cas chokes on a sob at that, and Dean cups the side of his jaw, “and I’d wake up happy because of you. I have loved you since I got knocked on my ass on that asphalt, because, technically, I literally fell in love with you as I toppled over.”

  


Cas’ eyes are hidden behind streams of tears, and Dean brushes away every single one that passes by the pad of his thumb, “I didn’t realize then that you managed to burrow your way under my skin until I couldn’t stop thinking about you, and I thought about what my mom said about hearts…” Dean’s other hand grabs onto Castiel’s, gently pressing his palm onto his own chest, “I’m in there too, Cas. I don’t how, or why, but I am. I’m right there, right underneath your ribs.”

  


“D-Dean-”

  


Dean gives Cas a solemn smile, “We complete the each other, Cas. You have a bit of me, and I have a bit of you. It’s like a puzzle with a specific piece.”

  


“B-But-” Cas inhales harshly, and the oxygen catches in his throat, “I don’t-”

  


“You say you’re broken, Cas, but you’re not.” Dean brings Cas’ hand up to kiss it, “You’re just hurt. You can heal and move on from this. Balthazar and I aren’t going to stop you from living your life, Cas. I just want you to be aware of that.”

  


Cas shakes his head, “But you said that you wanted to stay with me-”

  


“But you don’t want to. Pontiac is calling your name, and you’re going to answer. I don’t want you to go, I really don’t want that, but I have no say. So even if this hurts, even if this is breaking my heart and it’s killing me on the inside, I know that the only person who can decide to leave me is you, whether I like it or not.”

  


“Y-You’re letting me go?”

  


Dean looks down, swallowing hard, “I can’t make you stay. I don’t have it in me to force you to make your decision. Last night, I told you that you needed to tell me if you wanted to stay or not.”

  


“You think I made my decision, don’t you? …” Cas whispers.

  


Dean doesn’t try to hide some of the bitterness in his voice as he speaks, “Isn’t it obvious? You keep fighting against me when I tell you that I don’t want to go, and then you decide you’ll leave because I’m not going to. It’s like a light switch, Cas. You can only have it going one direction at a time, and with the way this whole situation is going…” Dean’s voice cracks, and he tries to hide his wince at the sound as Cas stares, “you’re just going to end up leaving while I try to stay.”

  


Cas takes another breath, but as his lips press tightly together, Dean can tell that there are some painful words brewing themselves up in his throat.

  


“Why is it, Dean Winchester, that the one time you want to keep your promise-” Cas’ eyes water and his words fall into a sob, “I can’t let you fucking keep it?”

  


“That’s life. It’s full of opposites and shitty plot twists.” Cas’ mouth twitches with the promise of a small smile, but it never makes good of it as seconds pass in between them like silence.

  


However, as Cas looks down, he lets out a gasp.

  


“Y-You’re- _the ring._ ”

  


Dean looks down to his left hand, causing him to notice that the gold band from their damaged marriage still rests on his ring finger, and he licks his lips for a moment to only find his tongue and mouth dry, “I always wear it. What about yo- ...”

  


Dean’s words fade in volume as Cas’ left hand comes into view. The ring that Dean had placed on that finger five years ago is no longer there. Instead, in its place, is a fancier, more expensive looking band that causes Dean’s heart to almost thud into a halt from shock.

  


“Dean, I-”

  


“I’m guessing that’s Balthazar’s…” Dean knows that his tone is too calm for the rejection he feels at the moment.

  


Cas nods, though he seems a little panicky at the expression of stoic composure of the man before him as he struggles to keep himself together.

  


“How long?” it doesn’t sound like a question.

  


Cas furrows his brow, “What-”

  


“ _How. Long?”_

  


Cas swallows and moves his left hand out of sight slowly, as though Dean would pounce on it if it went fast enough to rip the ring off, “A year and six months…”

  


“Are you fucking-” it’s Dean’s turn to break now, and he finds his ass falling onto the floor as the world spins around him.

  


A stupid little ring shouldn’t have him this upset. It’s just a circle of metal, made to fit a damn finger. Nothing else, nothing more. Except, that little tiny piece of jewelry holds more meaning than anything else on Dean’s person. Not his clothes, not his wallet, not his phone, hell- not even his Colt that he’s adored for years- could amount up to the sentimental value that this ring seems to possess.

  


Dean’s breaths are ragged and his heart creates a fast tempo that beats itself away around his eardrums. He can feel Cas’ hands on him, can see the outline of him as he says something; but everything is blurred- everything is muffled. It feels as though Dean took a bad hit of a drug, and this was the consequence of doing so. Except, the drug in question was Castiel Novak; and it seems, that maybe Dean loved this man a little too much. Like an addiction that has embedded its way under his skin and into his veins, Cas’ new ring is like a complete rejection, and next thing Dean knows, he’s falling into what feels like the first stage of withdrawal.

  


“Dean-” a voice manages to come through the static, and Dean suddenly finds hands cupping his head to give him a little shake, “come on, just talk to me ple-”

  


Sounds cut out once more, and Dean’s mind blanks as feelings bombard him like a small vessel among an oceanic storm. He’s bashed around and beaten by the hurt that rises like a tidal wave, he finds his cheeks wet as though sea mist and rain drops planted themselves on his skin, and Cas’ words sound like howling wind that’s too fast for your ears to truly process. All in all, Dean finds himself drowning in what feels like too much and too little sensation at the same time.

  


His arm reaches out for Cas almost instinctively, and his fingers grip onto the first thing they touch. Dean feels desperate and terrified, and a small broken noise falls over his lips, that in some sense, seems to be the equivalent to that of an “abandon ship” or “man overboard”. Cas is instantly roaming over his form, as though somehow, within those seconds, Dean hurt himself. The other man grips onto Dean’s shoulder tightly, and all that stands out among the pixels and blurs of Dean’s vision is the most amazing and gorgeous blue he has ever seen.

  


“Dean-”

  


“I still love you.”

  


The words slip out in a way that is similar to that of a man who only has moments left in his life. It’s as if Dean is forcing those syllables out of himself even if he doesn’t know which way is up or down at the current moment, since the room is spinning around him. Cas stills against him, and Dean works saliva down his throat even though it feels like acid, causing his throat to sting and burn as it flexes.

  


“You don’t- …” Cas trails off, and his voice is quiet.

  


“I still fucking love you-” Dean blurts, hearing his voice break and tears run down his face, “and you fucking don’t-” Dean’s voice gives out once again, and he hangs his head.

  


Dean is lost to his feelings once more, except instead of numbness and paralyzing fear, Dean finds himself in a furious denial. Dean’s attention is sharp and callous as he stares at the unfamiliar piece of jewelry on Cas’ finger, and it causes him to find control over his muscles to the point where it seems like he’s shuddering from rage.

  


“Dean…” Cas murmurs, and he reaches out to Dean who only shrugs off the appendage that is placed on him so he can get up.

  


“It seems like you already made up your mind, Cas. Even if you leave Balthazar, that doesn’t change the fact that you already took my ring off of your finger.”

  


Cas is silent.

  


Dean shakes his head, and he gives a humorless laugh, “I mean, come on. We’ve been apart for five years, and all we’ve had to say each other wasn’t a ‘hey, how are you- it’s been a while hasn’t it?’- no, it was just bitter words and insults that just showed how pissed we still were. Maybe we are broken- maybe we weren’t meant to work out like I thought we could.”

  


The other man eyes Dean from the floor, and his lips are pressed together tightly, and his eyes shine from the obvious emotional effort that he is giving to not utter a word.

  


“I just- I feel so fucking used, Cas. I understand if you’re trying to figure things out and all of that, but we had sex last night, Cas. We tried to get over the barrier and wall that we built between us like some line that could never be crossed, but seriously- what the hell?” Dean’s tone is venomous and hurt, and Cas doesn’t look that far off from falling apart himself, “You don’t understand though. I haven’t had sex with anyone in _years._ The last time I did that was in 2010, Cas. That was four years ago, until last night.”

  


Cas looks even worse off than before, and his eyes let out tears while his mouth lets nothing escape. A part of Dean screams at him to stop- to stop hurting Cas- but he’s just so tired of this damn game that he just needs to lay this shit out before he self-combusts.

  


It makes him so angry, that Dean begins to pick his clothes up off of the floor, and Cas makes no move to stop him. Instead, he just lays there and allows Dean to pack his bag while he rants.

  


“You think that you’re the only one who tried moving on, only to realize that they couldn’t? I mean- I tried one other person, Cas, and it was such a disaster for me that I never attempted to do it again. You wanna know why?” Dean looks up to find that Cas is staring at him, yet, he is still silent, “They weren’t you.”

  


Cas’ face scrunches up and more tears fall as he hangs his head down to his chest and he sobs quietly.

  


“I did a whole bunch to try and get you off of my mind. Nothing ever worked, Cas- I was always so angry at myself because I couldn’t forget you- I couldn’t move on- and I felt like I was stuck on a man who didn’t even care about me anymore. I was about to give up hope until I got a call from you out of the blue, and next thing I know, you’re asking to completely leave me.”

  


Cas sucks in a harsh breath, but Dean goes on- “You said that you hurt a whole lot whenever I showed up- yeah well, it was worse whenever I found out that you would rather be with a man who fucking abuses you than me. Just- I never wanted it to get this way, Cas, but it did, and I’m really fucking sorry that it turned out that way.”

  


Bloodshot eyes meet Dean’s, and the blue of their irises beg Dean to stop- to just let things go while they’re both at it- so that’s what Dean does.

  


He lets go.

  


“I’m leaving.”

  


Cas doesn’t even blink.

  


Dean waits a few moments, and he wants there to be an interjection- an argument that is against him walking out that door again, but there isn’t one. No, Cas just sits there on the floor, and he just fucking stares at Dean without forming a syllable.

  


It’s obvious… his answer…

  


_Go._

  


“You’re not going to stop me? You’re not going to say anything, or tell me that you still care?” more anger seeps its way into Dean’s words as he presses on just like the silence, and it causes him to snap- “Alright, fine. It’s not like I fucked you last night-” Cas flinches at that- “and it’s not like I tried, either. I get it, you fucking hate me. Just-” Dean rubs at his hair, “I wish you would just fucking tell me for once. One word, Cas. One word and I’ll stay, I promise.”

  


Cas shakes his head and wipes at his eyes, but he is still silent. He refuses to even tell Dean what he wants- what he thinks- and it frustrates the other man. Is he not allowed to get an answer? Is he not worth wasting the breath over? Dean just hopes that maybe Cas will give in, and in his moment of vulnerability, the word “stay” would slip out of him for Dean to hear.

  


However, as the seconds pass and the silence between them grows, that may not be the case. Instead, Dean grabs his duffel angrily and walks out the door.

  


Yet, as Dean steps past the threshold, a small part of him swears that a small “sorry” had been voiced behind him. Dean knows, however, that he was just hearing things; because if Cas were sorry, then he wouldn’t be currently driving off in the Impala while trying to hold back tears.

  


**-X-**

  


**-** _{A Few Days Later}_ **-**

  


Castiel sits inside of one of the many interrogation rooms of Pontiac’s local police department, staring at the stainless steel table as he awaits any officer to come inside and begin questioning him.

  


He had turned himself in to the police a few hours after Dean had left. Firstly, to make sure that Dean was long gone before any member of the police force was near him, and secondly, well- he had a bit of a break down.

  


Not saying anything really tore Castiel apart inside, because for once, he felt like he was doing the wronging. He knew that Dean still cared deeply for him despite the distance and all of the time spent apart, and it only hurt Castiel to push him away when Dean wanted to help.

  


Of course, keeping Dean safe cost Castiel in more ways than one.

  


He is alone now, mostly due to the awkwardness of people receiving pornographic films of him, but also because Balthazar was in custody now and is being charged with all sorts of crimes things for his actions. Having Dean’s shoulder and presence would more than likely make this easier for Castiel, but he knows that the officers would definitely cuff him at the first chance that they get. Besides, Castiel can deal with being lonely- but he can’t cope with Dean taking a blame he doesn’t deserve.

  


The door to the room opens, and Castiel straightens himself in the metal chair he’s sitting in, and he blocks out his thoughts on Dean before they guilt him even more.

  


“Mr. Novak, or Winchester? I understand that you are planning on divorce, so I am unsure what you’re last name is, and I do apologize.”

  


The woman eyes Castiel with something close to pity, and Castiel shrugs, “It’s alright. Either is fine.”

  


“Okay, then, uh- Mr. Novak, my name is Tessa McKeon. I’m going to be your lawyer for your case against Balthazar Roché.”

  


Castiel nods, “I know you have lots of questions, so just go ahead and ask them.”

  


“How often was Balthazar physically abusive to you? Did he force you into any situation, sexual preferably, that you were not exactly comfortable with or consenting to?”

  


“As for the abuse, he was rough whenever he could be… I could look at him wrong and I could set him off, and he hit me at least once or twice every day… He touched me often, when I didn’t want it, or he’d make me have sex. I learned not to say no after the first time.”

  


She writes something down, “Did you ever try to defend yourself in some way, or did you ever try to inform someone of what was happening?”

  


“I was afraid of what people might think- that they would think I was lying when I was calling out for help. As for standing up to Balthazar… I don’t like hurting people, and I’ve vowed against it- but I also kept myself from doing anything in fear of retaliation from him.”

  


Tessa sets her file aside, nodding, “Mr. Novak, I’m not going to lie… this is probably my most unusual case I ever had during my career.”

  


“How is that?”

  


“I’ve never heard of someone beating their fiancé and outing themselves by sending their personal collection of pornographic videos to their friends- specifically ones with direct or indirect ties to police force.” she shakes her head, “It was practically suicide for him, and I honestly have no idea how in the world he even believed that was going to be a good idea considering that even giving out those videos without your consent is illegal.”

  


Castiel shrugs and twiddles his fingers around, “Balthazar was never a wise man. He thought he could cripple my reputation with people, or he could control me by blackmail. I’m honestly surprised he hasn’t done anything stupider sooner.”

  


Tessa snorts and smiles softly, “I like you, Mr. Novak… Look, I’m just going to give it to you straight. This case is going to be sort of hard on you, because you’re going to have to tell me every single detail or thing that has happened between you and Mr. Roché. This also includes the judge, the jury, and any other person attending the hearing. You’re going to have to talk about everything in front of almost everyone. It’s going to be a tough and taxing process, and I do apologize once again.”

  


“I’m going to be alright, I think…” Castiel assures to her quietly, “I honestly just want to get this case over and done with as fast as possible. The sooner that Balthazar is out of my life, the better… I’m just ready to be out on my own for once.”

  


Tessa bites her bottom lip, looking at Castiel as though he was a puzzle that was missing one of its pieces- and in some ways, he might be- “Can you tell me what the whole debacle with Dean Winchester was?”

  


Castiel looks down at the table, guilt flooding through him, “It’s a long story…”

  


“If you haven’t noticed, Castiel, all we’re going to do is talk about what has happened to you. Mr. Winchester is strongly involved in this case, and I’m curious as to why.”

  


“Balthazar made me summon him to sign divorce papers so we could get married. He had plans on leaving the US in a week or so at the time, and he wanted to get married here in the States before we left… To do that, we needed Dean to sign the forms.”

  


“So it was an out of nowhere thing?”

  


Castiel makes a so-so movement, “I suppose it was, but… I knew that eventually I would have to contact Dean over the situation…”

  


“Why did you two split up in the first place?”

  


Castiel sighs and hangs his head, “It’s a long story, Ms. McKeon. I’m sure you have better things to do with your time than listen to me tell it.”

  


“It’s relative to the case either way, Mr. Novak. If you just get this out now, it’ll be easier for you in the long run. Honesty and being open are the best policies when trying to legally bicker in court.”

  


Castiel doesn’t look at Tessa, and he bites his lip, “This whole conversation is being recorded, right?”

  


“Yes, it is, Mr. Novak. Everything you say has to be documented by law.”

  


“Everything?”

  


Tessa nods, “Every single syllable that is uttered, yes.”

  


Castiel refrains from scanning the room, “How many cameras are there?”

  


“At least one.”

  


Castiel knew he wasn’t going to get an exact answer, but he smirks at Tessa’s reply anyways- “Yeah, that’s not a bad estimate.”

  


Tessa smiles back at Castiel, but her expression turns serious after a few moments- “Mr. Novak, I really do need to know about your husband now.”

  


“Dean and I met in high school…” Castiel begins, and he goes on for the next twenty minutes about his and Dean’s interactions, about how they reunited at the reunion and couldn’t get enough of one another.

  


Throughout the story, Tessa looks enraptured, never once even jotting something down with her pen. She seems too fixated on Castiel’s hand mannerisms and his tale of his love and life for and with Dean Winchester to bother with writing it down. Castiel finds it oddly endearing of her to do so, so he tries to remember things in better detail to make her time worthwhile. He retraces his steps from the moment he collided with Dean Winchester in his high school’s courtyard to the point in which Dean walked out the door in the motel room because Castiel told him to. However, he keeps the whole “agent” thing out of the picture roughly, saying that he discovered things about Dean that he didn’t know instead. Tessa takes it all in, and studies the man before him with unfiltered curiosity.

  


“That’s…” Tessa makes a face, smirking and shaking her head in slight disbelief, “Mr. Novak, I have to say I never imagined something like that.”

  


“Yes, I know. I’ve had people tell me it was a fairytale romance, despite the rough edges.”

  


Tessa’s brow furrows though, and she purses her bottom lip, “Why did it end, then?”

  


“Because that’s what it really was- a fairytale.” Castiel smiles with some bitterness in the stretch of his chapped lips, and he shakes his head, “How long can someone convince themselves they’re living a fantasy before the world around them comes crumbling down? How long can someone look in a mirror and lie to themselves before it just gets old? A fairytale was never meant to be lived, Ms. McKeon. They’re meant to be told as a story, to fill little children’s heart with hope that one day they’ll find true love and everything after that will be okay. Life- _real_ life- just doesn’t work that way.”

  


“So what are you trying to say about Dean?” Tessa looks seriously confused and concerned, as if Castiel’s relationship with Dean is one of utter importance.

  


Castiel grins solemnly at Tessa and speaks with a sincere honesty, “It means that it was just too good to be true… Dean was too perfect, for some time, was too much like Prince Charming for it to be real… I suppose there’s only one thing in this whole debacle and story that is true for it being a fairytale…”

  


Tessa pauses for a moment, voice quiet, “And that is? …”

  


“I was never supposed to get to fall in love with someone so out of my league.” Castiel answers honestly, “Like the peasant girl who works the fields or, in this case, the boy that just worked in the field of technology, Dean was supposed to be out of my reach. He was never supposed to get with me or care because I wasn’t supposed to matter.”

  


“But you did.”

  


Castiel holds back some tears as he nods, chin to his chest- “Yes, Ms. McKeon. I did.”

  


“So why don’t you fix things? Why not start anew or something?” she sounds hopeful as she speaks, and her scowl of disappointment makes it seem as though Castiel was supposed to be reacting to it the same way she is, “Dean sounds like a good guy, from what you’ve told me. I’m sure he’d be willing to get a fresh start if you’d let him have one.”

  


“It’s complicated, Ms. McKeon. Far more than you know and that I can lead on. I suppose that falling in love with Dean Winchester was similar to falling in love with a puzzle piece. I didn’t really know who he was until I saw the rest of the picture.” Castiel sighs then and shakes the image of Dean out of his head, “Besides, I need to figure out my life first before I even begin thinking about that. I don’t know if I even love him much anymore, or if I’m just desperate for someone because of what’s happened.”

  


Tessa smiles warmly towards Castiel, despite all that he’s said- “Mr. Novak, I honestly believe you still love him.”

  


Castiel shrugs, trying to blow the comment off- “Maybe I do, maybe I don’t. Right now is not the best of times to be declaring feelings or beginning relationships for me. I just want to get through this case first.”

  


“But what about afterwards?” Castiel internally screams, because he’d rather talk about anything other than this- other than _Dean-_ “Can’t you just call him then and make a coffee date or something? Make up for lost time and chances over some Joe?”

  


“I don’t think this is relative to my case, Ms. McKeon.”

  


“Now you’re changing the subject-”

  


“Because I don’t want to think about _Dean!”_ Castiel hisses, and he quickly reels himself back together and blushes more than is probably considered normal, “I-I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to-”

  


Tessa shakes it off, unphased, and Castiel supposes that lawyers deal with this sort of emotional roller coaster too often than not, “It’s fine, Mr. Novak. I was practically forcing myself in where I don’t belong… I just wanted to know about it, and I apologize for that.”

  


Castiel nods, “You seem pretty invested in if Dean and I will get back together or not…”

  


“I’m a sucker for romance at heart, despite this tough, cold lawyer suit of mine.” she smirks, “I have to admit that this is probably the cutest and most tragic love story I’ve heard.”

  


“I’m glad my experiences have entertained you.”

  


“I didn’t mean it like that,” she says with some amount of mock hurt, “but just that when I see two people who really, truly, belong together- I just can’t help myself. Bad habit, I suppose.”

  


Castiel would roll his eyes but he thinks it is too immature for the situation for that, so he just snorts instead, “Sounds like you have a problem.”

  


Tessa laughs, “Yep- I’m an addict.”

  


“That’d make the two of us…” Castiel murmurs while green eyes, cupid bow lips, and sandy blonde hair fill his mind, “But I guess I’m more so of person who wants to be as one of those two people.”

  


“Who doesn’t, Mr. Novak?” Tessa says, and Castiel can’t agree more as he plays with a familiar, plain gold band that rests on his ring finger.


	7. But I Know That I Still Need You Here

 

 

 

**- _{Six Months Later}_ \- **

 

"Hey, Dean," Jo knocks on the glass of the Impala's window loudly, irritation running rampant in her tone, "I don't think this is healthy anymore."

 

Dean knows where this is going already. He understands that he looks like a slob or something, laying in the front seat of his car with an empty bottle resting between his thighs. There's others littering the floorboards and backseat, and he’s sure that his face is covered in a pressure mark from where his forehead rested against the steering wheel. It’s nothing new to him or Jo.

 

Now, how long has Dean been like this for it to fall somewhere in the ‘this is normal’ stage?

 

Well, Dean’s honestly been a mess since he left Cas.

 

However, when really didn't matter, because now his head hurt and he was tired and angry. His whole world felt as though it had shifted several inches to the right somehow after stepping through that motel door for the last time, trying to find his way “home” again. It doesn’t sound too bad, but when has anyone ever been happy to try and get somewhere with a compass that was a quarter of a centimeter off?

 

"It wasn't supposed to be, even from the start, Jo," Dean groans from the strain he feels in his spine as he moves to roll up his window, "Now go away... I've got a hangover."

 

Jo snorts, but it doesn’t have an ounce of humor in it, "Yeah, I'm not surprised that you do, Dean. You've been pretty much drunk since you came back from your little ‘adventure’ a few months ago."

 

Dean tries to ignore Jo, and his head is still throbbing painfully, "Go away..."

 

"God, Dean," Jo currently sounds legitimately angry at him, "you are so fucking _pitiful_ right now. Garth was debating on coming out here with his sock puppets to cheer you up."

 

"Not the sock puppets... They're so fuckin' _creepy,_ " Dean slurs.

 

Jo makes a sigh of agreement, and she places herself near the backseat door as her back leans on the metal, "Oh god, I know they are, Dean! I think that should make you realize just how dire this situation is!"

 

"I _am_ aware that I'm a mess at the moment, despite what you may think," Dean hisses as he moves the seat belt from where it had been cutting harshly into his side, "Also, never fall asleep in your car’s front seat. _Ow._ "

 

Jo snickers, but the sound dies off after a few seconds, "Dean, I'm serious though... What in the fuck happened to you?"

 

"Karma, fate, whatever," Dean waves his hand off into the air, seemingly unphased by this conversation- as if being nonchalant about this was going to just his current habits, "S'not important, Jo."

 

Jo gawks at Dean, " _Not important?_ Dean, you are sleeping in your car- in a motel parking lot, I might add, when there’s a shitty bed just ten feet away- hungover, and you had your window rolled down all night while you slept drunkenly in the worst part of this town. You even have a half-empty beer bottle and a cigarette butt in your lap, in case you haven't noticed."

 

"I put the cigarette out before I hit the sack," Dean mumbles, "Stop judgin' me..."

 

"Then stop giving me a _reason_ to. Look, I want you to inside and get yourself cleaned up, Dean. I'm going to stop this stupid shit before you hurt yourself or worse."

 

Dean unbuckles himself from his seat, cursing as his beer bottle tumbles out onto the asphalt, making Dean look even more drunk or pitiful or _whatever-_ but either way, Jo looks even more disappointed, “M’fine, Jo. There’s no need to step in.”

 

“No need my ass, Dean,” Jo scolds him, offering a necessary hand to help him to do the simple act of just standing upright without swaying, “Look, recently, you’ve been more drunk than you have been sober, and that’s not good. You go through at least two or three packs of cigarettes a day now. Before you deny it, I’ve been finding your receipts and I count your smoke breaks. Your purchases have nearly doubled and you’re practically gone all the time.”

 

Dean snorts, “That’s not bad, Jo-”

 

“You constantly smell like alcohol and ash, Dean. Tell me, what part of that is supposed to have a single ounce of good in it?”

 

The older agent sighs and leans more onto his partner, finally admitting defeat, “I get it, Jo… I’m a mess.”

 

“Yep, and now’s the time we get some metaphorical Windex and paper towels, because I’m not letting you waste away like this for any longer.”

 

“Jo, you’re not going to accomplish anything-”

 

“Psh, you _think_ that. Turns out that I still have my magical touch, Dean, and I've already become involved more than once,” Jo leads Dean to their motel room with a grimace on her face, more than likely smelling the stale beer on Dean’s already horrendous morning breath, “I’ve done a whole lot more than you think. What was the last thing? I dunno, something about pictures and cops? I think it was in a town called Zodiac or something.”

 

Dean nods along sarcastically, “Uh, huh. _Of course_ you've done something.”

 

A hand smacks Dean’s arm so hard that he knows without a doubt that it’s going to bruise, and he looks up to Jo to find that she’s glaring at him, “If you were anyone else, Dean Winchester, then you’d already be on your ass with a broken nose and an apology seeping from your reddened lips.”

 

“I have no doubt on that,” Dean snorts and chuckles lightly.

 

“Now get your ass cleaned up, okay? I expect a shower and a very thorough toothbrush session before you even _think_ about coming back out.”

 

Jo pushes harder against Dean’s back, forcing him through the motel door.

 

“What are you gonna be doin’ while I’m fixin’ myself up?”

 

Jo smirks, “I’m gonna call up a few familiar faces- or face, really- and request that they come down for a little visit. You see, I’ve kept in touch with someone important, and they’ve got a few things to say to you, if their texts are anything to go by.”

 

Dean sighs and holds onto the side of the door, feeling the chipped paint dig into his fingertips as he does so.

 

“Well whoever they may be, I’m guessin’ that what they have to say is not going to be anythin’ nice…”

 

“Depends, Dean Winchester,” Jo tilts her head, “Though I’m sure they’ll have a few choice things to comment on if they see you in this condition-”

 

“Alright, I get it. I look like shit,” Dean rolls his eyes very slowly, because if he goes any faster, he may vomit.

 

He needs to stop getting drunk so much, seriously.

 

“Okay, so we got the game plan down now?” Jo asks with a little bounce, her excitement evident.

 

“Yes, Jo. Go find whoever it is and I’ll get ready to see them.”

 

Dean closes the motel door as Jo does a triumphant little dance on her toes, “Okay, Dean! Scrub and lather!”

 

Dean snorts at his partner as he sheds his clothes piece by piece with every step. By the time he reaches the bathroom, his body is bare, causing him to notice that even his skin radiates the smell of booze and ash. Ugh, Jo was right…

 

Wait- speaking of her, Dean thinks about who Jo might be bringing to see him, He goes through a list of names as he lathers his skin up with cheap motel soap, and somehow, his mind wanders onto a man with raven hair and damn blue eyes.

 

Dean knows that thinking about Cas will bring him nothing but pain. Being separated for five years allowed him to have some time to become numb to the dull ache in his chest, one that was ironically shaped like Castiel Novak. However, being apart for a few months or so has done nothing but make the wounds feel festered. That’s where the booze and smoking came heavily into play.

 

Dean’s tried other things before he got here, let him assure you. He’s already made an attempt at the whole “moving on” bit with a girl named Lisa Braden. That had only managed to last for a month before Dean called it quits. She was a nice girl; _anyone_ would’ve been proud to take home to the family. But for Dean, she just wasn’t…

 

She just wasn’t what Dean wanted.

 

She was too curvy where she should have been angled, her cheeks were too smooth when they should have been rough with stubble, her eyes were brown when they should have been the best shade of blue that Dean has _ever_ come across. When they slept together- the very few times that had even occurred- Dean always thought of someone else while she was underneath him. He thought her voice wasn’t right whenever she made noises, because last time Dean checked, it was supposed to be lower- gruffer. Whenever her fingertips began to trail down Dean’s skin, he shivered from foreignness rather than pleasure. Her nails were too long and they were sometimes painted, which was a change, because Dean was used to the old ones being cut weekly and left all natural.

 

Most blame their break up on Lisa bringing her young son Ben into the mix, but in all honesty, Dean just didn’t care. He liked kids, sure, but… He’d rather take care of one with someone he honestly wanted to be with. Lisa was just a quick fling at first that sort of grew into a relationship that sort of turned into a disaster for Dean. He was just lost then, and yeah, he was only trying to find his way in life like some soap opera star that no one really cares about- but god damn, how could moving on be this _hard?_

 

Lisa should’ve been perfect for Dean.

 

She had chocolate brown hair, which is a plus, because Dean prefers dark brunettes; she had a lithe body that was lean and plump in all the right places- she had a smile that was warm and happy, one that looked good enough for postcards that you could send to mom and dad for Christmas. She was, in some sense, the perfect package for a man looking for a fresh new start. However, shit just didn’t work out.

 

God, just- everything about Lisa wasn’t what Dean _needed._

 

He needed that rough six o’clock shadow, or a dark mop of hair that was unruly on the best of days, or chapped lips that would look dry no matter how much chapstick was applied to them. Dean needed someone who was all lines that he could trace, all angles that he could follow with his eyes or tongue if he wanted. He needed someone who could touch him with the same reverence, because they knew the skin that composed the man beside them.

 

Dean scrubs harder at his hair, grunting at his train of thought, because it’s pretty obvious where this is going.

 

“Of course he’d get stuck in my head like some… some parasite…” Dean hisses, staring at the drain as water rushes down inside of it and into the pipes below his feet, “No matter what I do, he’s just always gonna be there, ain’t he?”

 

Dean leans against the shower wall, closing his eyes and huffing a breath full of steam as lines of droplets work their way down his cheekbones and nose to form into streams, running off collectively from his chin. Dean raises his arm and places it near his forehead, groaning at the feeling of water beating against his heated skin that overlayed his sore muscles.

 

“God, I miss him so much…”

 

For some reason, Dean’s mind jumps to his conversation with his mother all that time ago, the one that took place the day before he graduated from high school.

 

He can see his mother’s face clear as day, with her golden hair and her warm eyes and smile as she speaks- “ _The more you end up caring about someone, you’re going to find yourself giving more of heart to them. You need to decide how much of you that you’re going to entrust in someone, Dean, because if they leave…_ ” her hand had fallen from Dean’s chest then, and her smile had faltered, “ _They take that part of you with them._ ”

 

“Huh, guess that she wasn’t joking…” Dean mutters, feeling like a fool for not heeding his mother’s words. Maybe if he did, he wouldn’t be hurting at this moment.

 

Dean looks down to his chest to stare at his reddened skin. He wonders how much of his heart is even left at this point. Is it all gone? Did Cas take all of it, or did he just have a majority of it? Did he take the rest before Dean left again?

 

Dean lets his other hand come up to his chest, his fingertips lingering lightly over the skin as Dean stares at the white tiles of the shower.

 

_When you decide to call it quits, and you decide that leaving is better than staying, you’ll hurt. You see, that piece in your chest that was once theirs, it aches. It hurts because you still have a part of them with you, and you carry it in your heart wherever you go like a chip on your shoulder._

 

Dean just breathes for a moment, his mind having pulled a blank as it keeps remembering all of the warnings and advice he had gotten over the years. The image of Bobby appears in his head, and it’s during their conversation over Bobby’s lost wife, Karen.

 

“ _Just do right by yourself, Dean._ ” Bobby had said seriously, “ _Don’t end up like me._ ”

 

“I guess I did, in some ways…” Dean murmurs, “I lost him just like you lost her, didn’t I?”

 

Cas isn’t dead- of course, well, as far as Dean knows- but shit, _he_ certainly feels like a walking, talking corpse at the moment.

 

God- did he and Cas _ever_ have a chance? It seems like they were doomed from the very beginning. Like water and fire- like night and day- they were never meant to work together, and if they tried, they destroyed the other in the process.

 

The comparison makes Dean think that they sound like heartless machines.

 

 _I can’t read a person like I can binary code. People aren’t sets or strings of numbers, they aren’t chips that are embedded with copper wires… They’re living, breathing things that are random and independent from any technological system that I’ve ever known by heart…_ _And that’s what makes them the most complicated of all things._

 

“You were right, Cas…” Dean smile doesn’t quite make it, his voice solemn, “Holy shit- you were right…”

 

Dean stops the pity show right then and there, because if Jo wanted him sober and presentable for whoever it is she’s bringing here, then this train of thought isn’t going to do that cause any good. Dean sighs, hanging his head down as he makes sure all of the soap is off of his body before he turns the shower off.

 

He nearly stumbles as he tries to get over the side of the tub, and he curses under his breath towards himself for letting go this badly. He’s sure his lungs must be black by now, and his liver probably isn’t doing much better.

 

_If you die, what am I supposed to do?_

 

Dean has to stop himself from punching the motel wall as Cas’ voice rings in his head. He remembers Ash telling him that he was losing it, and god, it really seems like he is.

 

“ _Get out, get out, get out!”_ Dean grabs handfuls of his damp hair, sliding against the wall to rest somewhere near the toilet.

 

Dean’s vision swims and his stomach clenches, reminding him of his drinking all too well. In seconds, Dean is vomiting into the toilet, gasping for air as his eyes blur and his heartbeat thunders against his eardrums. He ends up leaning against the cold porcelain for a few moments, trying to get his body and mind under control.

 

“Deep breaths, Winchester…” Dean tells himself, counting on his inhales and exhales, pausing to let himself soak in the much needed oxygen into his lungs.

 

After what seems like an hour or two has passed on breathing exercises, Dean finally tries his first attempt at standing up. His legs wobble as he wonders if he’s good enough to even manage standing upright at this rate.

 

“Baby steps…” he tells himself, and he scowls at the fact he’s having to do pep talks just to walk a damn inch or two.

 

He’s not _broken,_ dammit…

 

Right?

 

Dean sighs as he tilts against the counter in defeat, turning on the faucet so he can get the damn taste of alcohol-puke off of his tongue and teeth. He nearly groans in relief as the smell and taste of mint replaces the putrid one, and he goes slow with the toothbrush because he’s so sore that even his teeth ache. God- Jo was right- he _is_ pathetic.

 

Dressing takes a little amount of time, thankfully, but Dean finds it hard to get his legs into his jeans and his arms into his sleeves without leaning over to the side or getting lost along the way. If Cas were here, he would think Dean is a damn joke.

 

Maybe he is, at the moment. Maybe to someone else, this is the funniest damn thing they’ve ever fucking seen. A drunk man, attempting to put on clothes like an average Joe only to fail over and over because he’s heartbroken and miserable- oh yeah, great material for a one-liner there. Hell, maybe even a video would do them justice. It could go viral almost instantly, and every single damn person on this whole planet can know just how utterly pathetic Dean Winchester _truly_ is.

 

“I’m just miserable at best, aren’t I?” Dean mumbles sadly, looking at the dresser in front of the mattress that he had to use as he surrendered against his fight with gravity, and its mirror hides nothing from him.

 

There are dark bags underneath his eyes that look like bruises, and there’s a red line along his neck from where the Impala’s seatbelt dug into it as Dean slumbered through his drunken haze and into a hangover from Hell. His lips look rough, as though they’ve been placed against so many beer bottles to drink up the alcohol that they’ve been rubbed raw. Dean sighs, looking down towards his lap.

 

“Well, Jo was right about this, too… I look like shit…”

 

However, Dean’s moping ends as a small, gentle knock comes from the door.

 

“Who is it?” Dean asks cautiously.

 

“Dean-” it sounds like Jo, “are you presentable?”

 

Dean looks at himself in the dresser mirror and wipes a hand over his face, “As best as I can be, Jo.”

 

Jo seems satisfied enough with that, “Okay, good. Now come open this damn door.”

 

Dean gets up, walking slowly to the motel door not from his hangover, but in a prudent way because he knows that sometimes Jo can be a jerk when she wants to. Dean’s fingers linger on the cold knob longer than they should, but give him credit, he’s nervous as hell at the moment because right now there’s a motel door separating him from someone important.

 

Dean says a ‘fuck it’ under his breath as he pulls the door back, and instantly gapes at the person standing before him, “C-Cas?” Jo is smiling like a little shit as she stands behind Cas, looking at Dean with a dangerous twinkle in her eyes- “You fucking set me up-”

 

“Ta ta, Dean!” Jo practically skips away, a smile on her lips as she blows a kiss his way, “You’ll thank me later!”

 

Dean seethes for a moment, glaring at the direction she left in before a throat clears itself, reminding him that he’s not exactly alone at this current moment.

 

“Oh…” it’s all Dean can manage.

 

“Hello, Dean.” Cas murmurs, twiddling his thumbs over each other as he shuffles on his feet awkwardly, “It’s nice to see you-”

 

“Six months, Cas.” the other man flinches at Dean’s bitter reminder, averting his eyes to the cement underneath his scuffed shoes, “That’s half a god damn _year._ ”

 

“I’m aware of how long a six month period is, Dean.” Cas sounds a little pissed at Dean for that, but it could be one of those ‘this is directed at me, not you’ kind of thing, “I would’ve come sooner, but…” he trails off.

 

“But?” Dean raises an accusing brow, “You ever gonna inform of why you decide that _now_ is the best time to just come appear in my life?”

 

“This is the earliest that I could have come to see you, Dean. Court trials take some fucking _time,_ you ass. I won at least, just in case you were wondering.”

 

Dean swallows, feeling a bit like- you guessed it- an ass, “Yeah, but that still doesn’t explain why you took another month or two to show up…”

 

Cas looks a little embarrassed, his cheeks turning red- and Dean knows it’s not from the cooler temperatures of autumn- “I had to figure things out, Dean… Balthazar burned a lot of bridges for me, and after the case settled, I lost my house since it was in Balthazar’s name…” Dean feels like an even bigger dick now, though he thought that was impossible, it was apparently managed- “Most of my savings went into court costs and bills, and after the trial was over, I basically had nothing left… I was homeless for about a month-”

 

“Why didn’t you _fucking call me?”_ Dean says with some anger edging his tone, “You know that I would’ve helped you out-”

 

“You made it clear _six months ago_ that you didn’t want anything to do with me.” Cas retorts, “That didn’t leave me with a lot of options.”

 

“I never said or implied that, but… I still would’ve helped you out, Cas.” Dean whispers, “You know I’d never let you get hurt or anything…”

 

Cas shakes his head and sighs, “Let’s just get to the point here, Dean. I came here for a reason.”

 

Dean notices that Cas has a packet of papers in his hand, and his chest constricts- “Oh… So we’re back to square one now, are we?”

 

“Dean, just- just _shut up_ and let me talk.”

 

Dean snorts, but keeps himself from saying anything. His hand comes forward to motion Cas to hurry up and get to the point.

 

“It’s, um, it’s about the divorce papers.”

 

“I figured as much.”

 

Cas looks towards the ground, using his free hand to rub his neck nervously- “I… I want to know if you plan on signing them or not.”

 

Dean furrows his brow, and somehow, Cas has managed to make him feel even more hurt than before, “So, you get rid of Balthazar first and then it comes down to me too, right?”

 

“No, it’s not like that, Dean.”

 

Dean blinks- “Then how is it, Cas? What are you asking of me?”

 

“I’m asking if you want to divorce me.” Cas blurts, his face going red, “I want to know if you want to leave me.”

 

Dean’s mind pulls a blank for the second time that day, “You don’t want to get a divorce? …”

 

“Honestly, at this point, I really don’t know what I really want. I just know what I need.”

 

“And one of those things is me, right? …”

 

“In some ways, yes.”

 

Dean groans, “Cas, you’re not making sense-”

 

“It’s not really supposed to make sense, Dean. Nothing about us was ever rational.” Cas takes a deep breath, his hand tightening around the divorce forms, “I thought about this long and hard, Dean. I’ve probably analyzed the past five years and six months over a thousand times, and I’m no closer to figuring things out than when I even started this.”

 

“Then why are you here, Cas?” Dean has some bitterness seep into his voice, “If you don’t know what you want, then why did you show up to debate with yourself at the doorstep?”

 

Cas licks his lips, looking at Dean with some sincerity in his gaze, “Honestly, if I didn’t show up on a whim, I probably would have never come at all. Either way, if it weren’t for Jo, then I couldn’t have even had this chance in the first place.”

 

“So thank her and leave. Keep up tabs with her until you get things ‘ _sorted out_ ’.” Dean mocks Cas’ reason for denying them when Dean had tried to stay after putting everything on the line- “I hate playing this game with you.”

 

“Which is?” Cas asks coldly.

 

Dean grits his teeth, “How could you not possibly know at this point, Cas? It’s this fucking thing of ‘cat and mouse’ we have going on, alright?”

 

Cas doesn’t say a word, he just looks at Dean with what seems like a borderline glare.

 

“You pull me in and then you shove me out. You make up your mind for one second and then change it again the next.” Dean sighs in exhaustion- “I’m just so fucking tired of chasin’ after us when you don’t even know if you’re going to be there in the first place.”

 

“So are you going to sign the papers?” Cas sounds tired too, more so than Dean.

 

Dean looks at the sheets, “Are we really going to go through with this, Cas? … Are we really going to end us? …”

 

Cas shakes his head, “I don’t know, Dean. It’s all up to you.”

 

“Why are you giving me the choice?” Dean’s voice is off partially, and it’s obvious that he’s suspicious.

 

“It’s so you can break your promise, if you want.” Cas states simply, though there’s an edge to his voice that he quite can’t hide, “You can stay, or…” Cas swallows, his tone shifting a little, “Or you can go…”

 

Dean stares at the divorce forms with ire, his words soft as they are uttered- “Cas… Would you hate me if I said I don’t want to break anymore promises by signing those?”

 

“No.” he sounds utterly relieved in some way, but he quickly returns to his stony expression and almost impassive voice, “So… are you going to sign them?”

 

“Do you really want me to? …”

 

Cas breaks and his voice sounds pained, even his face contorts for a moment, as if Dean’s words had ripped an old bandage off to put on a new, better one. “N-No-”

 

“C’mere…” Cas falls forward onto Dean’s chest, tears sliding down his cheeks, “Just let it out, Cas…”

 

“S’been shit without you- _always_ has been…” Cas admits, his voice shaky and rough, “I’ve felt like shit s-since you left…”

 

Dean holds Cas close, rubbing soothing circles into the other man’s back, shushing him as he sobs, “Let’s get inside-”

 

“N-No,” Cas pushes against Dean, “there’s something I have to do.”

 

Dean stares at Cas, utterly confused.

 

“I’m sorry, Dean.”

 

“You’re sorry?”

 

Cas nods, and he crunches the papers in his hand, “This whole time, I just felt sorry for me and me alone, and I completely forgot about all that I’ve done myself.”

 

Dean presses his lips together for a second- “You’re talking about _that_ night, aren’t you?”

 

Cas just nods.

 

“You didn’t know, Cas…”

 

“I nearly-” Cas stops himself, and a new set of tears roll down his cheeks, “Dean, don’t just disregard what happened, or what I did.”

 

Dean sighs and puts a hand on his hips, “I’m not, Cas. I can’t really forget that night even if I wanted to.”

 

“Neither can I, Dean. That’s why I need to apologize.”

 

“Cas, I don’t blame you or hate you for it, okay? I get that you were just doing your job, and that you didn’t know it was me. God- I’m the one who hurt you the most, you don’t have to-”

 

Cas shakes his head, “I _have_ to, Dean, at least for this.”

 

Before Dean can say another word, he watches as Cas lifts up the divorce forms- “Cas?”

 

Without warning, the other man grabs a lighter from out of his pocket, flicking the wheel until a small flame appears and lights the edge of the divorce forms.

 

“Cas-”

 

“You forgave me for all of my bullshit…” he murmurs, looking relieved as the papers in his fingers smoldered into ash- “That’s reason enough for _me_ to stay.”

 

**-X-**

 

\- _{September 18th, 2009}_ -

 

 

Today is one of the greats.

 

It's the one where you wake up, open your eyes, and instantly, you know that something awesome is going to happen. Like you have some radar or it's instinctual. It's the kind of day that makes you sit on the edge of your seat, that makes a smile threaten to hold your lips hostage, the kind of day that makes your toes curl and your heart sing as though it's got the voice of a orchestra's symphony.

 

It's the kind of day that happens to be Dean's one year anniversary to Castiel Novak- and he's glad for it. _Eager,_ actually.

 

Dean's got a bounce in his step and a plan on his mind for tonight, and he's been waiting for this day for what feels like ages. He's been preparing for it, to be honest, and he's been working extra hard for the past three months or so to get a few days off to stay with Cas if he can. He took extra jobs, went the extra mile, and he even took jobs that most agents weren't willing to touch. Sure, it had been a shit period for him, but he finally got to the end- or at least, the climax; the _point_ of it all.

 

He had woken up and kissed Cas on the forehead before calling his boss to request some down time. That didn't work out too well. You see, despite Dean's best efforts, there's always assignments to be done- there's always someone who needs a reality check, no matter how hard Dean pushed himself to gain the extra mile. Jobs and assignments are always important, and some are far more urgent and pressing than others. So that's how Dean found himself getting saddled with a last-minute hit job, and he's groaning to himself about it while he laces his shoes.

 

"Something's gotten under your skin today," Cas murmurs as he sits up from the bed, and he wipes at his eye, "and I hope it isn't our anniversary."

 

"Nah, Rufus just called me in for another shift, is all."

 

"But you're supposed to have the day off," Cas stands and stretches, "For a car shop, you guys certainly have a lot of work to do. A little too much work, to be honest."

 

Dean snorts, "Yeah, I agree. I'll call up a few buddies and we'll start up a union and everything. We'll even go on strike, too."

 

Cas smirks, and Dean watches him go into their small kitchen for a mug of coffee, "Oh yeah, stick it to the man. That'll teach 'em."

 

"You have such faith in me."

 

"Of course I do," Cas smiles warmly, and Dean's chest clenches at the sight- but for another, darker reason than one of admiration, "I've never had a reason to doubt you."

 

But he _should-_ Dean knows this; Cas doesn't. The irony of the situation is that Dean has been lying since day one of this marriage, or at least, day one of their actual relationship. There has never been a time when Cas should've trusted Dean, but he did. He doesn't even have a clue as to what's been and is going on behind the scenes, and his blindness makes Dean feel like this is some rigged poker game. Cas believes all of Dean's bluffs; he doesn't see Dean swapping out what he was dealt with to get a better hand. The worst part is that he doesn't know that he's losing- not even a bit.

 

"Well, I've got to head out," Dean sighs, and he stands up with a defeated look about him.

 

 Cas comes over and wraps his arms around Dean's waist, and his chest is pressed up against Dean's back, "You really do need some time off, Dean. I can't remember that last time you've even gotten a work-free day. Besides, today is our anniversary. You derseve it." 

 

"I've been trying, let me assure you. Just- it's one thing I've got to clear up before I can come back home. It's just a few hours, tops."

 

Cas snorts softly against Dean's neck, and Dean overlays his hands on Cas', "Well, hurry back. I don't want to have a late night on my anniversary."

 

"I promise that I'll try to not keep you waiting."

 

The other man laughs, and despite Dean's lingering feeling of guilt, he smiles, "You bet your fine ass you won't. Now go. I'm actually looking forward to grease stains and the smell of motor oil."

 

"Of course you are. I'm quite well aware that you love your hot mechanic husband," Dean jokes with a grin, and he kisses Cas' cheek as he laughs before heading out the door.

 

As soon as the door closes to his and Cas' apartment, Dean's work phone is in his hands. He scrolls through his contacts for a moment, and he presses the call person when he sees the name of the person he needs.

 

She picks up midway into the first ring, " _Dean?"_

 

"I need some intel, Charlie- like, I needed it yesterday."

 

" _I thought today was your day off, Dean-"_

 

Dean snorts, "Yeah, well. Apparently not. Now please hurry. The less time I spend on this job, the less time I lose on my anniversary."

 

" _I get it, this is urgent or- wait. Holy shit._ "

 

Dean slows from where he had been nearly jogging among the crowd on the sidewalk, "What is it?"

 

" _Nothing, just-"_ Charlie takes a deep breath over the line, " _this is actually urgent._ "

 

"Charlie-"

 

She shushes him, " _Don't you start. Look, I'm just going to tell it to you straight. You've got a hit job on an important informant of Michael's._ "

 

Dean groans, "For all the hard work I've done already, I get _this_ too?"

 

" _I understand that the system isn't fair, but reality isn't, and we're playing with life and death here. Are you expecting anything else out of this?"_ Dean is about to answer when she sighs, " _Just- do the job, Dean. Like you said, the quicker it'_ _s over, the faster you're going to get back to whoever you tied the knot with- who I still need to meet, by the way._ "

 

"I don't think you'll ever meet him, Charlie. You know that I won't let my personal life get tied up with work. I'm not stupid."

 

Charlie snorts, " _Quick question to contradict that Dean. Does whoever you put a ring on even know what you're doing behind their back?"_

 

Dean stops walking almost instantly, and he finds himself motionless among the flow of rushing people. His shoulder is bumped into, his shoes are stepped on a couple of times, yet no one truly acknowledges him. He's grateful, for that at least, because it means that no one can see the look of utter shock and defeat on his face.

 

" _Thought so,_ " she declares with a triumphant spark in her voice, " _So, how about I come over for dinner tomorrow. Eight sound good? I'll even make my five-star restaurant quality lasagna-"_

 

"Charlie, information. _Now,_ " as Dean hears her open her mouth to make some comment about being rude, he quietly adds, "Please."

 

 She pauses, " _Okay, fine. Uh, all it says here is that he's been employed with Michael for some time. It's undercover, you know?"_

 

"Are you sure it isn't a mistake?" Dean asks, starting move again in the crowd, "I know that there are employees of Michael that really are _just_ employees. That mistake has been made to often, Charlie. I don't want it to happen again, especially if I'm trying to get some time off."

 

There's the sound of a mouse clicking and buttons being pressed on a keyboard coming over the line, " _I don't think so. This seems legit, I think. Besides, I'm pretty sure that you'll get an exception or something if that happened. I wouldn't let them force you to miss out on all of your anniversary because of vague information._ "

 

"Thank you, Charlie. You're my knight in shining armor."

 

" _I try to be,_ " and Dean doesn't have to even see her- he can hear the smirk in her voice well enough.

 

Charlie then relays an address to some abandoned factory, and some bits of information are taken from the grapevine and are bestowed upon Dean. The call is strictly business after that, and after a few terse and martial comments, Dean hangs up just as he reaches his other home away from home.

 

It's an aged auto shop that sits along the residential and city areas of the city. It has gray walls and black floors, and some lemons that have gained more rust than worth lay around- forgotten; ignored. Along the edges of the sun-bleached asphalt, grass grows up wild and dry, and the streetlamp that lights the small parking lot is rotten and littered with bent nails and "lost dog" papers.

 

Dean's not technically lying to Cas about being in a garage for most of the hours that he's away. It just so happens to be the network's safe house in Seattle, and it serves Dean with more purpose than a demanding mechanic's job.

 

"I thought today was supposed to be your day off," a transferred agent- Lisa, if Dean remembers the introduction meeting correctly- says with a smirk.

 

"It was, but you know how it is. You won't get a full day off until your dead or about to be."

 

She smiles as Dean walks past her to go get suited up for his new assignment, though she does look disappointed that he isn't one for conversation at the moment. Well, he's got a job to do, and dammit, he's going to get it done so he can at least _see_ Cas on their first anniversary.

 

Dean is so focused on getting out there to get his job out of the way, that he finds himself struggling to get his vest strapped on properly. He must be causing a scene of some sorts, because Lisa enters the room. Dean only reacts when he realizes she's muffling a giggle. He raises a brow at her.

 

"You're putting it on backwards," she comments, only to free her laugh as Dean looks towards his chest to realize that she's right.

 

"Oh, shit," Dean fumbles to correct it as Lisa keeps on cackling at him, "This wasn't supposed to- ... Sorry. I'm sort of scattered today."

 

She smiles warmly at him, crossing her arms as she does so, "I can tell. I mean, you're not even supposed to be here."

 

For some reason, one of the other agents- Samandriel, the newbie- yells, "He doesn't even _go_ here!"

 

"Samandriel, stop quoting _Mean Girls_ and get your ass back to work! That's the _fifth_ time today!"

 

Dean snorts as he rolls his eyes, and Lisa grins at him.

 

"So," Lisa moves her foot across the cement floor absently, "what's the special occasion that you're missing out on?"

 

"That obvious?" when she nods, he shrugs and goes on, "Wedding anniversary. It's our first one."

 

Lisa's smile falters, "Oh, so you're a married man?"

 

Dean sits down on a nearby bench to put on his boots, "Yeah, and a happy one too. I tried taking today off for it, but... Well, you see how that worked out for me."

 

"She must be very lucky, whoever she is," Lisa murmurs, not looking at Dean as she speaks, "I hope you don't get hurt or anything. Lord knows she'll give you hell if you keep her waiting, fatally injured or not."

 

"I'll try not to, thanks," Dean smiles, but doesn't correct her on the wrong pronoun.

 

Silence passes between them for a few moments, and Dean spends those seconds awkwardly fixing the straps on his vest.

 

"I, um-" Lisa says suddenly, only to clasp her hands together and she lick her lips, "It was nice seeing you... uh-"

 

"Dean," he finishes tying the laces, "I'm Dean Winchester. I already know yours, with the big meeting and all."

 

She smiles once more, "I'll be sure to remember next time around. Good luck on your job, Dean."

 

As Lisa leaves, Dean watches her go. He knows that Lisa has at least been here for a few months, and during that time, she earned herself a reputation by not interacting with any other agents. She was always silent; always alone. Yet, she had talked to Dean- which, in all honesty, is one of the strangest things ever. Dean shakes his head and disregards it. There's more to worry about than a loner going all extrovert on him.

 

Dean's phone, however, knocks him out of his thoughts as it vibrates.

 

"Yeah?"

 

" _You're not even going to say that you love me?"_ Cas jokes, and Dean snorts at his husband as the last strap fastens.

 

"You already know I do. What's the point of saying it if you're already aware?"

 

Cas fakes a gasp, and Dean chuckles, " _You asshole! Anyways, I was calling to tell you that it seems like fate hates us today. I was called into work too._ "

 

Dean grabs his holster out of his locker, "Wanna join the union? We're like- one member strong at the moment. I'm the president, the vice president, _and_ the treasurer."

 

" _Think I might have a shot for any those positions come re-election time?"_

 

"Maybe, if you impress the three of us enough."

 

Cas laughs, " _Three?"_

 

"Me, myself, and I, obviously," Dean snorts as Cas face palms over the line, "Anyways, I'm sorry about your boss being a dick too. You'd think this would be illegal or taboo or something."

 

Cas sighs, " _If anything, it's completely inconvenient. I only got through half an episode of Criminal Minds before my cell rang. Can you believe it? I was just getting to the part where they found the boy's body in the woods._ "

 

"Oh, you're talking about the episode where the baby brother died?"

 

" _Yeah. Why?"_

 

Dean smirks, "The older brother did it."

 

" _Really?"_

 

Dean closes his locker door, "Oh yeah, and it's because he's a sociopath, I think. His baby brother wanted to play with some plane replica and broke it. He apparently didn't take it too well."

 

" _Huh,_ " Cas pauses to think, " _What did he do?"_

 

"Choked him, then shoved plane parts down his throat. The parents covered it up because they didn't want to lose him too, despite the fact that he's a murderer."

 

" _What a little shit._ "

 

Dean snorts, "Yeah, no kidding. Like, little fucker was gettin' pissed that he couldn't even open a bag of Lays."

 

Cas laughs, " _Ungrateful swine._ "

 

"You know it," Dean smiles warmly, but it falls when he sees the time on the clock on the wall, "Hey, even though taking about child killers is nice and all, I've got to go."

 

" _Understood,_ " Cas jokes, causing Dean to roll his eyes lightly, " _Can't wait to see you later today._ "

 

Dean feels warmth rise up in his chest, and he plays with his ring, "Me either. I have a lot planned for us. I just wish that work didn't get in the way."

 

" _Agreed. Now get your ass back to work. Maybe, if we hurry, our bosses will both let us go home early, and we'll get more time to ourselves. You know, like the way we want it? Slow and sensual?"_

 

Anticipation burns red hot through Dean's veins, "I swear to god, Cas, I could probably kill someone to get home to you right now," the pun is far too close to the truth, "Ha, it could be my boss. That bastard."

 

" _Well, if you do go through with it, I'm sure that the only place you'll find yourself in is jail. So be a good boy and get your work done, and then we'll spend a night in the slammer together, yeah?"_

 

Dean bursts out laughing, "I don't know if you were trying to be serious, but I just can't. That was _perfect._ "

 

" _I know I am,_ " Cas sing-songs, " _Love you, Dean._ "

 

"Love you too."

 

The call ends.

 

Dean grabs onto his gear and heads out, and as he leaves, Lisa wishes him luck. Dean waves to tell her goodbye, but as soon as he is out on the street, his friendliness fades into impassiveness. He heads to the address that Charlie had texted him earlier, and he prepares himself for what's to come.

 

The location is an abandoned factory somewhere on the outskirts of the city, making Dean a little cautious as he approaches it. The framework of the building is rusted and the inside is hallow, giving the sense of forlorn desperation and loneliness.

 

"Way to go on picking a hideout," Dean chastises quietly, pulling a mask over his head as he readies his gun.

 

The creaking of the metal beams gives Dean an edge as he comes upon some person- a man, by the looks of it- huddling over a table. He's reading something, probably, and he too is masked and covered in protective gear. It makes Dean pissed, because it means that he's prepared for something like this ambush, and that it's going to take him longer to get back home to Cas.

 

" _Perfect,_ " Dean thinks, " _Just what I needed._ "

 

Dean stalks forward, his feet light and slow as they creep along the cement floor, and his gun is at the ready in his hands. The man- the target- seems to be too involved with whatever he's looking at to listen for Dean's hushed breathing, because he doesn't notice Dean whenever he's about two feet away from him. Ugh- this is going to be _so_ easy. However, Dean's luck seems to run out, because the informant picks up a picture frame of himself and Cas, and that's when things get quite surreal.

 

For one, it's a picture of Cas leaning against him, smiling as he held up his left hand adorned with his, at the time, new ring. He realizes then that it's their wedding photo- the one that had been sitting on a shelf in their house, actually. It's enough to terrify Dean, but he only feels like his heart is about to beat out of his chest whenever the informant sees his reflection in the glass.

 

It's a blur of hands and feet, but Dean and the informant end up tumbling around on the ground over and over as they tried to pin the other down. No one gained the upper hand really, until the informant grabbed a knife out of his belt, and presses it up against Dean's throat.

 

"Shouldn't you buy me dinner first?" Dean jokes, feeling the blade threaten to slice into his skin.

 

The man doesn't speak. No, instead, he shakes. The blue of his irises are wide with fear, and he stares at Dean as though he's some alien or something down below him.

 

"Come on, you aren't gonna chicken out, are you?" he taunts, laughing, "You don't want to slit my throat to watch me bleed out like the bastard I am?"

 

The informant jerks forward suddenly, and that's when Dean thinks it's over. That's when he thinks that he's going to literally die on his fucking wedding anniversary, and Cas is going to have to have fucking bury him six feet under because he's a cocky idiot who loves to fuck everything up. Despite his initial humorous approach to him getting murdered, Dean can't help but freeze and panic while he thinks he takes his last breath as the informant yanks his head upwards.

 

But he doesn't.

 

No...

 

He takes one, and then another. Then three more.

 

Dean, with some sort of morbid curiosity, opens his eyes to see that the man is holding his mask in one hand, and that he's looking at Dean with something akin to shock.

 

"What are you doing?" Dean blurts, because of course, he's going to push his luck, "Did your boss not teach you commitment?"

 

The informant jerks away as though Dean burned him, leaving him lying there on the floor to look up at the rotten ceiling in complete confusion. After a few seconds of this, Dean leans up on his elbows as he quirks a brow.

 

"You're bad at this, you know that right?"

 

The man doesn't say anything. He only holds Dean's mask as though his own life depended on possessing it.

 

Dean stands, guessing that whoever this informant is, that he isn't going to kill him by now because he can't- that he's too scared- that maybe there's something keeping him from taking that knife and shoving it into the spaces between his ribs and collar bones.

 

"Okay, so I'm guessing that you've had a revelation or something, I guess," Dean rambles, "But if you don't mind, I've got a job to do, and today is sort of important to me, so I'm sorry that I have to-"

 

Dean's words are cut short by the man taking off his own mask, and then, those words are lost by what Dean sees.

 

"C-Cas?"

 

It doesn't make sense, really. Like- how was the able to happen? How was Dean's fucking husband able to be the one he was after, and the one that was, minutes earlier, about to kill him? Cas seems to be going through something similar in his own head, because he's looking at Dean in a confused way.

 

"Well," Dean coughs, "This is awkward."

 

"Dean, please-"

 

"What am I supposed to say in a situation like this, Cas? Sorry about nearly killing you?" Dean scoffs, "I don't think there's a Hallmark card for that."

 

Cas shakes his head, "Just- take this seriously at least, okay?"

 

Dean nods, but doesn't say anything else.

 

"So," Cas begins, trying to sound professional despite the weirdness in the air and in their guts, "where does this leave us?"

 

"Somewhere complicated, probably."

 

Cas doesn't argue with that, "What do you want to do?"

 

"I don't know, it's not like I can really pull this shit out of my ass or something."

 

Cas shakes his head, "Well, I just want to fix things."

 

"Fix things?"

 

"Things aren't exactly perfect, are they?"

 

Dean sighs, "Not anymore."

 

They quiet after that, and they stay that way while they pick things up together, as though they were cleaning up a mess. It was a silent thing between them, and it remained that way as they got a cab and went back to their apartment.

 

Cas fixes them dinner as though nothing had happened, and he sets the plates down on the kitchen table and looks at Dean expectantly. Dean complies, at least, with sitting down, but he doesn't touch his meal as Cas pokes at his with a fork, eating meagerly.

 

"We just can't act and play house, Cas," Dean whispers, staring at the plate of cheap ramen, "I just- what are we doing?"

 

"I want to move past this, Dean. I want to just have the life we were living before, okay?"

 

"Cas-"

 

"I was trying to leave, you know..." Cas murmurs, taking his fork and twirling noodles around it absently, "I didn't like what I was doing, and I told Michael that I wanted out. This is what he set me up to do- my final show, I guess. I went with a bang, didn't I?"

 

Cas' voice breaks, and he puts his face in his hands.

 

Dean makes no move to comfort him- doesn't think that he has the right to anymore- and it leaves Cas crying by himself at one end of the table with Dean watching at the other.

 

"I just wanted a normal life, Dean, I never- I never wanted this," Cas outstretches a hand, pointing out the rift that has formed between them since truths and faces were revealed.

 

"I didn't want this to happen either."

 

"So you're gonna leave your job, right?" Cas looks up, seemingly hopeful.

 

Dean hesitates, "I- I don't know, Cas."

 

"What do you mean?"

 

Dean rubs at the back of his neck, "This- this job is all that I've ever known, Cas. I mean, it saved me from a life of poverty and misery. I can't just walk away from that."

 

"You said that you didn't want this between us either," Cas points out, "Keeping that job would just make things worse, Dean."

 

He shakes his head, "I could still manage, Cas. I could keep it, and I could get us-"

 

"No."

 

Dean furrows his brow, "Cas-"

 

"I said no, Dean," Cas grits out, "I don't see what you do in killing men or ruining their lives. I hated doing it through their computers, but dammit, I could barely manage to even think about doing the physical thing. Honestly, I don't see how you can cope with it. So if you keep that job, you'll keep this, too."

 

Dean swallows, averting his gaze down to his ring, "But, Cas..."

 

"Dean."

 

Dean licks his lips before speaking, "I just can't leave, alright? I just can't... I don't see why you're getting so upset."

 

Cas shakes his head and stands up, forgetting about his peace offering of discount noodles, "I can see that you're just going to make us fight about this, Dean, and I really don't want that. So, I'm going to bed, and before that, I'm going to give you something to think about tonight. I want to know you're answer in the morning, because I can't deal with something like today again, Dean. I just- I can't."

 

Dean says nothing.

 

"You either choose your job, or you choose me, Dean. There's no in between- there's no space in this line that you can slip through, either," Cas makes his way to their bed, "I'm going to sleep now, Dean, because to be honest, I've had a weird and long day today."

 

Dean makes no argument or comment, and he watches as Cas slips underneath the covers. It takes a few moments, but Cas is out cold by the time Dean stands up. He reaches for his phone, calling a number that hasn't rung him up a while.

 

" _You've reached Bobby Singer. Who is this?"_

 

"Bobby-" Dean's voice cracks, and tears well up around his eyelids, "I fucked up- I fucked up-"

 

" _Whoa whoa whoa,_ " Bobby cuts through Dean's babbling, " _Calm down kid. What's wrong?"_

 

Dean shakes his head, his eyes squeezing shut as tears fall away, "I fucked up, Bobby. I just- I fucked up."

 

" _Take a deep breath, I'm sure it's not that bad._ "

 

Dean scoffs, "Yeah, nearly getting them killed by my own hand sounds insignificant."

 

" _What-"_

 

"Bobby, I just- I can't do this, I can't live a double life anymore."

 

Bobby pauses, " _Well, there's a time for it, I guess... But I don't understand why you're callin' me, boy._ "

 

"You went through it," Dean blurts, wincing as he realizes what he just did- ugh, he's fucking everything up today, "I wanted to know which is worth more."

 

" _Dean, I can't make that decision for you._ "

 

Dean feels so hopeless, "You can at least help me, right?"

 

" _You're an adult. You've put yourself in this place, Dean, whether you and I like it or not._ "

 

He sighs, "I don't want to leave the job, Bobby."

 

The admission makes Bobby sound disappointed, " _Dean..._ "

 

"I can't leave it, alright? It's all I have going for me."

 

" _Dean, a job is always replaceable. People aren't._ "

 

Dean takes a deep breath, "Well, I can't quit, Bobby. I don't think they'd let me, either way."

 

" _Then your decision's already made, isn't it?"_

 

Dean swallows, "I- I guess it is..."

 

Bobby waits a moment, sounding sincere, " _I'm sorry that you have to go through this, kid. I never intended to fuck your life up, too._ "

 

"I know..." Dean grabs a nearby pad of paper and pen, "I don't blame you."

 

"That doesn't mean I don't blame myself," Bobby murmurs, and without saying goodbye, he hangs up.

 

However, Dean is currently writing the most painful note ever, with his hand shaking and his letters uneven. He has to start over a few times, but eventually, he somehow gets it right. He looks over to Cas, sleeping in his bed, and it's almost as though Dean could forget what's happened.

 

But he can't- even if he wanted to. The job wouldn't let him, and it wouldn't let him go, so easily, either.

 

So that's why Dean places the letter on the bedside table with finality, and he packs up his bags and gets ready to leave. As he exits the apartment and shuts the door, he replays his message over in his head.

 

_Sorry that I broke my promise, Cas._

 

 

**-X-**

 

 **-** _{Present}_ **-**

 

Castiel drops the burning papers onto the ground, a part of him satisfied to see it smoulder before him as the wind carries it away and spreads the ashes.

 

“Did you just- …” Dean trails off, mouth fumbling over words.

 

“Yeah, I did.”

 

Dean looks completely taken off guard, “But, didn’t you like, need those to… to leave me? …”

 

“Yep.” Castiel pops the ‘p’, shrugging, “But I didn’t need them anymore.”

 

Dean stares at the man before him, one hand on the motel door and the other resting limply at his side as he stands there, mouth agape and brows furrowed softly. Castiel just gives him a small smile, hoping that it’ll convey his sincerity about his actions.

 

“Are you- do you- I mean- _Cas._ ”

 

Castiel averts his eyes and bites his bottom lip, “I know that my way of saying that I want a fresh start or a second try is a little unconventional, and in many ways it’s a fire hazard, but I just- it seemed like the best way to tell you that I’m sorry and that I’ve made up my mind. Because let’s be honest, burning the papers is more satisfying than just crumpling and tossing them into a recycling bin.”

 

Dean smirks and Castiel returns the gesture, “This is why I love you, you pyromaniac.”

 

“I know.”

 

Dean licks his bottom lip then, blinking, “Cas, I’ll be right back.”

 

“O-Okay…”

 

Castiel waits at the motel door as Dean rummages through something, feeling awkward as some people pass him and notice the smoking papers lying on the asphalt, causing him to wave and smile weirdly.

 

“M’back-” Dean is holding a large stack of papers, almost as thick as his thumb, “can I see your lighter?”

 

Castiel blinks at Dean for a moment before handing it over, “Dean, what are you doing?”

 

“I’ve made my mind up too,” he murmurs, lighting the edge of his ‘dead tree stack’, “and I don’t need this anymore either.”

 

Cas is about to ask Dean what he’s burning when he notices large bold letters that spell out ‘CONTRACT’, and he nearly swallows wrong- “Dean, is that your-”

 

“Job contract? Yeah, it is.” Dean just shrugs, scowling as he has to light up several more parts of the stack, “This doesn’t burn like I thought it would. Not as dramatic and meaningful.”

 

Castiel’s jaw drops, “N-Not as meaningful? Dean, you just burned your _job_ _contract_ for me!”

 

“I’m aware.”

 

Castiel stares at his… well, he can finally say it again- his _husband._

 

“I mean, it’s what broke us up in the first place.” Dean looks so nonchalant at the moment- as if he doesn’t realize just how much of a huge fucking step forward or leap or whatever this feeling is bursting forth in Castiel’s chest is- “Kind of fitting to just get rid of this when we fix things, isn’t it?”

 

Castiel doesn’t know whether or not if he should scream, cry, or explode in that single moment, “I- I suppose it would be…”

 

Dean grins at Cas, dropping the papers on the ground, seemingly pleased with the thump of it falling and the crinkle of it turning into ash and a memory, “So, Cas. Where do we go from here?”

 

“I don’t-” Cas sheepishly rubs at his neck, blushing heavily, “I didn’t plan this far ahead. I thought you would reject me outright after… after what I said last time I was with you.”

 

“Cas, I have loved you through thick and thin, I have still cared about you even as you told me that you hated me for what I did, and I have wanted to be with you even when you didn’t want me back again. How, within all that’s just happened, would you think that I would _ever_ leave you again?”

 

Castiel stares at Dean, warmth bubbling up against his ribs as his scarred heart sings its broken song of happiness, and it floods into his veins like blood and oxygen, “I don’t know.”

 

Dean’s smile just grows over his lips, his irises alight with a satisfaction that Castiel hasn’t seen since their wedding day, and he can’t help the chuckle that tumbles out over his lips on its own accord.

 

“I’ve missed that.” Dean says earnestly, and Castiel laughs, “God, I’ve missed that sound a lot, too. More than you’ll ever know.”

 

“I’ve just missed you- hell, I just really missed _us._ ” Castiel admits.

 

Dean nods, outstretching his hand as an unsaid invitation, “Cas, I’m going to make good on my promise this time.”

 

“I know you will.”

 

“No, it’s just-” Dean takes a step forward, grabbing onto Castiel’s arm as he drags him close, and he leans his forehead against Castiel’s with a sigh that’s so content that Castiel wonders if a privileged king or queen could top it- “I messed this up when I went back on my words, Cas. I’m the one who did the leaving _both_ times, and I’m telling you right now-” Dean lefts Castiel’s face up to meet his with a gentle finger, “I don’t ever want to do that again.”

 

Castiel leans into the single digit that is quickly joined by others, and he lets his jaw fall into the crevice of Dean’s calloused palm, “It’s the past, Dean, and if you’re too focused on that, then you can’t focus on the present. I’m here now. We’ve fixed things.”

 

Dean sighs, brushing the pad of his thumb over the curve of Castiel’s chapped bottom lip with reverence, “I don’t want to mess this up again. I don’t want to be the one who’s always breaking us apart…”

 

“I don’t think either of us are willing to let that happen again.”

 

Dean glances at his burning contract, and Castiel follows his gaze. Small tendrils of black smoke work their way up and into the breeze, causing embers float away like a reversed ashen snow, and Castiel feels Dean pull his body closer to his own. There’s a few moments of silence, and it passes with their eyes on Dean’s ruined contract that burns alongside the remains of Castiel’s unfiled divorce papers- ones that never, ever got signed. Castiel knows that they never will be; and it seems, as the other man snakes his one arm around Castiel’s waist, that Dean is also acutely aware of the same fact.

 

“No, I truly don’t think we will.”

 

Castiel waits a few more moments, enjoying the feeling of Dean against him, before he speaks.

 

“So… about the drinking and smoking-”

 

“ _Cas._ ” Dean groans, but there’s no real heat behind it.

 

Castiel sighs and shrugs against Dean’s chest, “I quit smoking two months ago, Dean, and I’ve never been a fan of getting drunk off of whiskey and beer like you. I’m not willing to have the taste of ash or stale alcohol in my mouth. So, if you don’t sober up any, I won’t let you kiss me-”

 

“I’ll be getting the patches as soon as I can,” Dean blurts, adding, “but I shall _never_ give up my drinks. They’re like liquid oxygen for me, Cas. I _need_ them.”

 

Castiel grins sinisterly, and a small part in his head begins wondering if he’s a sadist in some way for doing this, “Well, no mouth on mouth for you then… Speaking of which, did you know that I always wanted to learn how to French kiss?”

 

“ _Cas._ ”

 

 

**FIN**


End file.
